Skip to main content
Internet Archive's 25th Anniversary Logo

Full text of "The Poetical Works Of William Wordsworth"

See other formats


OUP 881 5-8-7415,000 


Call No. ^-2-1 * 1 | Accession No. \ (s) ^ k 1 Ji"^ 

Authoi . 

This book should be returnedyt n or before the ciat^ last marked below. 

















Edited from the manuscripts 

textual and critical notes 






Oxford University Press, Amen House, London E.G. 4 


Geoffrey Cumberlege, Publisher to the University 



Tins volume, comprising the remainder of Wordsworth's shorter 
poems, contains a considerable proportion of his later work, 
notably the Evening Voluntaries perhaps the best example of 
his mature style, Memorials of the Tour of 1833, and two late 
Sonnet-sequences ; but also some of his most characteristic early 
work in Poems of Sentiment and Reflection and Poems referring to 
the Period of Old Age. The great Ode, Intimations of Immortality 
&c., stands significantly at the end. 

Appendix A gives the surviving portions of his translations of 
Virgil, of which only a fragment has hitherto been published; 
Appendix B contains Poems and Verses of various periods, either 
never printed by Wordsworth or rrot included in his final edition 
of 1849-50. I have reserved unpublished passages of blank verse 
which have kinship with The Prelude and The Excursion for the 
Appendix to Vol. V which will contain The Excursion. 

In following Wordsworth's final text I have made a few correc- 
tions, in most cases supported by the manuscripts : vide Poems of 
Sentiment and Reflection, XXVI, 46 (p. 98) ; Sonnets upon the 
Punishment of Death, I, 10 (p. 135) ; Miscellaneous Poems, VII, 27 
(p. 161) ; The Cuckoo and the Nightingale, 28 (p. 218) ; Troilus and 
Cressida, 118 arid 138 (p. 232). But the most important emenda- 
tion, sanctioned by Wordsworth's own hand, is in the Ode, 
Intimations of Immortality at line 69 (vide text p. 281 and note 
p. 466). 

I am indebted to Professor H. W. Garrod and Professor D. 
Nichol Smith for 4 -help in tracing the Latin verses ascribed to 
T. Warton (Appendix B. VIII). 

I wish to express my gratitude to Mr. E. H. W. Meyerstein for 
his generosity in trusting me with the Longman manuscript of 
Poems of 1807 for prolonged study. Finally I tender my warm 
thanks to my friend, Sir Humphrey Milford, for lending his expert 
eye to the scrutiny of my proofs. 

H. D. 
Julij 1947. 


W. or W. W. William Wordsworth. 

D. W. Dorothy Wordsworth. 
Dora W. Dora Wordsworth. 

M. H. or M. W. Mary Wordsworth. 

S. H, Sara Hutchinson. 

H. C. R. Henry Crabb Robinson. 

E. Q. Edward Quillinan. 

M . Memoirs of W. W., by Christopher Wordsworth. 
E.L. The Early Letters of W. W. and D. W. Oxford, 1935. 
M.Y. The Letters of W. W. and D. W. Middle Years (1806-1820), 

2 vols. Oxford, 1937. 
L.Y. The Letters of W. W. and D. W. Later Years (1821-50), 3 

vols. Oxford, 1939. 
C.R. The Correspondence of Henry Crabb Robinson with the 

Wordsworth Circle, ed. Edith J. Morley, 1927. 
I. P. The notes dictated by W. W. to Isabella Fenwick in 1843. 
O.E.D. The Oxford English Dictionary. 
L.B. Lyrical Ballads, 1798, 1800, 1802, 1805. 
1807. Poems in Two Volumes, 1807. 
Vol. of 1835. Yarrow Revisited and other Poems. 
Vol. of 1842. Poems chiefly of Early and Late Years. 
1815, 1820, &c. Collective editions published in 1815, 1820, &c. 
K. Professor William Knight, editor of W. W.'s Poetical Works, 

8 vols. 1896. 
Dowden. Professor Edward Dowden, editor of W. W.'s Poetical 

Works, 7 vols. 1892-3. 
Hutchinson. Mr. Thomas Hutchinson, editor of the Oxford 

Wordsworth, The Lyrical Ballads (1798) 1898, and the Poems 

in Two Volumes (1807) 1897. 
L. Longman M SS. Manuscripts of the Lyrical Ballads (1800-5) and 

of Poems in Two Volumes, 1807, formerly in the possession of Mr. 

T. Norton Longman, now in that of Mr. E. H. W. Meyerstein. 
C. Variants from a copy of W.'s Poetical Works, 1836-7, for- 
merly in the possession of Lord Coleridge, used by W. for 

correction and re-drafting of his text, now in the Royal Library 

at Windsor. 
MS. M. A manuscript of Poems included for the most part to 

Poems in Two Volumes, 1807, transcribed probably in March, 

1804, v. E. de S., The Prelude, p. xx. 


MS. 101. A large folio note-book in use from 1820 onwards, in 
which poems have been transcribed by D. W., M. W., S. H., and 
Dora W., and in which W. himself has written drafts of poems 
in process of composition. It has been possible to deduce iden- 
tity of date for certain poems on the same or adjacent pages 
from similarity of ink and handwriting and the placing and 
sequence of drafts. 

MS. 92. A quarto note-book containing transcriptions of Poems 
intended for the Poems chiefly of Early and Late Years, published 
in 1842. 

MS. 1, MS. 2, &c., in Apparatus Criticus indicate variants from 
first draft, second draft, &c., of manuscript text of the particular 

[ ] indicates a word or words missing from the manuscript. 
Words enclosed in [ ] represent a reading from another MS. 
or printed text: words enclosed in ( ) a reading from the 
same MS. 

17/18 lines found in a manuscript or printed text between line 17 

and line 18. 



Criticus AND NOTES . . . . vi 


I. Calm is the fragrant air, and loth to lose . . 1 

II. On a high Part of the Coast of Cumberland . 2 

III. By the Sea-side ..... 3 

IV. Not in the lucid intervals of life . . .4 
V. By the Side of Rydal Mere . . .5 

VI. Soft as a cloud is yon blue Ridge the Mere . 7 

VII. The leaves that rustled on this oak -crowned hill . 8 

VIII. The sun has long been set . . .9 

IX. Composed upon an Evening of extraordinary 
Splendour and Beauty . . . .10 

X. Composed by the Sea-shore . . .13 

XI. The Crescent-moon, the Star of Love . .14 

XII. To the Moon. Composed by the Seaside, on the 

Coast of Cumberland . . . * 14 

XIII. To the Moon (Rydal) . . . .16 

XIV. To Lucca Giordano . . . .18 
XV. Who but is pleased to watch the moon on high . 18 

XVI. Where lies the truth ? has Man, in wisdom's creed 19 


I. Adieu, Rydalian Laurels ! that have grown . 20 

II. Why should the Enthusiast, journeying through 

this Isle . . . . . .20 

III. They called Thee MEKRY ENGLAND, in old time . 21 

IV. To the River Greta, near Keswick . .21 

V. To the River Derwent . . . .22 
VI. In Sight of the Town of Cockermouth . . 22 

VII. Address from the Spirit of Cockermouth Castle . 23 

VIII. Nun's Well, Brigham . . . .23 

IX. To a Friend. On the Banks of the Derwent . 24 

X. Mary Queen of Scots. (Landing at the Mouth of 

the Derwent, Workington) . . .24 

XL Stanzas suggested in a Steamboat off Saint Bees' 

Heads, on the Coast of Cumberland . . 25 


XII. In the Channel, between the Coast of Cumberland 

and the Isle of Man . . . .30 

XIII. At Sea off the Isle of Man . . .31 

XIV. Desire we past illusions to recal ? . .31 
XV. On entering Douglas Bay, Isle of Man . . 32 

XVI. By the Sea-shore, Isle of Man . . .32 

XVII. Isle of Man . . . . .33 

XVIII. Isle of Man . . . . .33 

XIX. By a retired Mariner (A Friend of the Author) . 34 

XX. At Bala-Sala, Isle of Man (Supposed to be written 

by a friend) . . . , .34 

XXI. Tynwald Hill . . . . .35 

XXII. Despond who will / heard a voice exclaim . 35 

XXIII. In the Frith of Clyde, Ailsa Crag (during an Eclipse 

of the Sun, July 17) . . . .36 

XXIV. On the Frith of Clyde (In a Steamboat) . . 36 
XXV. On revisiting Dunolly Castle . . .37 

XXVI. The Dimolly Eagle . . . .37 

XXVII. Written in a Blank Leaf of Macpherson's Ossian . 38 

XXVIII. Cave of Staffa . . . . .40 

XXIX. Cave of Staffa (After the Crowd had departed) . 40 

XXX. Cave of Staffa . . . . .41 

XXXI. Flowers on the Top of the Pillars at the Entrance 

of the Cave . . . . .41 

XXXII. lona . . . . . .42 

XXXIII. lona (Upon Landing) . . . .42 

XXXIV. The Black Stones of lona . . .43 
XXXV. Homeward we turn. Isle of Columba's Cell . 43 

XXXVI. Greenock : per me si va nella Citta dolente . 44 

XXXVII. 6 c There ! ' ' said a Stripling, pointing with meet pride 44 

XXXVIII. The Kiver Eden, Cumberland . . .45 

XXXIX. Monument of Mrs. Howard (by Nollekens), in 
Wetheral Church, near Corby, on the Banks of the 
Eden . . . . . .45 

XL. Suggested by the foregoing . . .46 

XLI. Nunnery . . . . . .46 

XLII. Steamboats, Viaducts, and Railways . . 47 

XLIII. The Monument commonly called Long Meg and 

her Daughters, near the River Eden . . 47 

, XLIV. Lowther . . . . . .48 

XLV. To the earl of Lonsdale. "Magistratus indicat 

virum" . . . . . .49 


XLVL The Somnambulist . . . .49 

XL VII. To Cordelia M , Hallsteads, Ullswater . 54 

XL VIII. Most sweet it is with umiplifted eyes . . 54^ 

I. Expostulation and Reply . . .66 

II. The Tables Turned: an Evening Scene on the same 

Subject . . . . . .57 

III. Lines written in early Spring . . .58 

IV. A Character . . . . .58 
V. To my Sister . . . . .59 

VI. Simon Lee the Old Huntsman, with an Incident in 

which he was concerned . . . .60 

VII. Written in Germany on one of the coldest Days of 

the Century . . . .64 

VIII. A Poet's Epitaph . . . .65 

IX. To the Daisy . . . . .67 

X. Matthew . . . . .68 

XI. The two April Mornings . . . .69 

XII. The Fountain: a Conversation . . .71 

XIII. Personal Talk . . . . . * 79* 

XIV. Illustrated Books and Newspapers . .75 

XV. To the Spade of a Friend (An Agriculturalist). Com- 
posed while we were labouring together in his 
Pleasure-ground . . . . .75 

XVI. A Night Thought . . . .77 

XVII. Incident characteristic of a favourite Dog . 77 

XVIII. Tribute to the Memory of the same Dog . .79 

XIX. Fidelity . . . . . .80 

XX. Ode to Duty . . . . .83 

XXI. Character of the Happy Warrior . . 86 

XXII. The Force of Prayer ; or, the Founding of Bolton 

Priory: a Tradition . . . .88 

XXIII. A Fact, and an Imagination; or, Canute and 
Alfred, on- the Sea-shore . . .91 

XXIV. " A little onward lend thy guiding hand" . . 92 
XXV. Ode to Lycoris. May, 1817 . . .94 

XXVI. To the same . . . . .96 

XXVII. September, 1819 . . . . .98 

XXVIII. Upon the same Occasion . . . .99 

XXIX. Memory . . . . . .101 

XXX. This Lawn, a carpet all alive . . .102 


XXXI. Humanity . . . . .102 

XXXII. The unremitting voice of nightly streams. . 106 

XXXIII. Thoughts on the Seasons . . .107 

XXXIV. To upon the Birth of her First-born Child, 

March, 1833 . . . .107 

XXXV. The Warning: a Sequel to the foregoing . .110 

XXXVI. If this great world of joy and pain . .114 

XXXVII. The Labourer's Noon-day Hymn . .115 

XXXVIII. Ode, composed on May Morning . . .116 

XXXIX. To May . . . . . .118 

XL. Lines suggested by a Portrait from the Pencil of 

F. Stone . . . . . .120 

XLI. The foregoing Subject resumed . . .124 

XLII. So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive . .125 

XLIII. Upon seeing a coloured Drawing of the Bird of 

Paradise in an Album . . . .126 


I. Composed after reading a Newspaper of the Day . 128 
II. Upon the late General Fast. March, 1832 . 128 

III. Said Secrecy to Cowardice and Fraud . .129 

IV. Blest Statesman He, whose Mind's unselfish will . 129 

V. In Allusion to various recent Histories and Notices 

of the French Revolution . . .130 

VI. Continued . . . . .130 

VII. Concluded . . . . .131 

VIII. Men of the Western World! in Fate's dark book . 131 

IX. To the Pennsylvanians . . . .132 

X. At Bologna, in Remembrance of the late Insurrec- 
tions, 1837 . . . . .132 

XI. Continued ..... 133 

XII. Concluded . . . . .133 

XIII. Young England what is then become of Old . 134 

XIV. Feel for the wrongs to universal ken . .134 


I. Suggested by the View of Lancaster Castle (on the 

Road from the South) . . . .135 

II. Tenderly do we feel by Nature's law . .135 

III. The Roman Consul doomed his sons to die . 136 

IV. Is Death, when evil against good has fought . 136 
V. Not to the object specially designed . .137 


VI. Ye brood of conscience Spectres! that frequent . 137 

VII. Before the world had past her time of youth . 137 

VIII. Fit retribution, by the moral code . 13 

IX. Though to give timely warning and deter . 139 
X. Our bodily life, some plead, that life the shrine . 139 

XI. Ah, think how one compelled for life to abide . 139 

XII. See the Condemned alone within his cell . .140 

XIII. Conclusion . . . . .140 

XIV. Apology . . . . . .141 


T. Epistle to Sir Goorge PTowland Beaumont, Bart. 
From the South-west Coast of Cumberland. 
1811 . . . . . . 142 

Upon perusing the foregoing Epistle Thirty Years 
after its Composition . . . .151 

II. Gold and Silver Fishes in a Vase . . .151 

III. Liberty: Sequel to the preceding . . .153 

IV. Poor Robin . . . . .158 
V. The Gleaner: suggested by a Picture . . * 150 

VI. To a Redbreast (in Sickness) . . .160 

VII. I know an aged Man constrained to dwell . 160 

VIII. Sonnet to an Octogenarian . . .162 

IX. Floating Island . . . . .162 

X. How beautiful the Queen of Night, on high . 163 
XI. Once I could hail (howe'er serene the sky) . 163 

XII. To the Lady Fleming on seeing the Foundation pre- 
paring for the Erection of Rydal Chapel, West- 
moreland . . . . .165 

XIII. On the same Occasion . . . .168 

XIV. The Horn of Egremont Castle . . .169 

XV. Goody Blake and Harry Gill: a true Story . 173 

XVI. Prelude, prefixed to the Volume entitled "Poems 

chiefly of Early and Late Years " . .176 

XVII. To a Child: written in her Album . .178 

XVIII. Lines written in the Album of the Countess of 

Lonsdale . . . . .178 

XIX. Grace Darling . . . . .180 

XX. The Russian Fugitive: Part I . .183 

Part II . . . . . .186 

Part III . . . . . .188 

Part IV . . . . . .190 



I. In the Grounds of Coleorton, the Seat of Sir George 

Beaumont, Bart., Leicestershire . . . 195 

II. In a Garden of the Same . . .195 

III. Written at the Request of Sir George Beaumont, 
Bart., and in his Name, for an Urn, placed by him 
at the Termination of a newly -planted Avenue, in 

the same Grounds . . . .196 

IV. For a Seat in the Groves of Coleorton . . 197 

V. Written with a Pencil upon a Stone in the Wall of 
the House (an Out-house), on the Island at Gras- 
mere . . . . . .198 

VI. Written with a slate Pencil on a Stone, on the side 

of the Mountain of Black Comb . . .199 

VII. Written with a slate Pencil upon a Stone, the 
largest of a Heap lying near a deserted Quarry, 
upon one of the Islands at Ryclal . . 200 

VIII. In these fair vales hath many a Tree . .201 

IX. The massy Ways, carried across these heights . 201 

X. Inscriptions supposed to be found in and near a 
Hermit's Cell. i. Hopes what are they ? Beads of 
morning ...... 202 

XI. ii. Inscribed upon a Rock . . 204 

XII. in. Heist thou seen, with flash incessant . 205 

XIII. iv. Near the Spring of the Hermitage . . 205 

XIV. v. Not seldom, clad in radiant vest . . 206 

XV. For the Spot where the Hermitage stood on St. 

Herbert's Island, Der went -Water . . 206 

XVI. On the Banks of a Rocky Stream . . 208 

I. The Prioress' Tale .... 209 

II. The Cuckoo and the Nightingale . . .217 

III. Troilus and Cresida .... 228 


I. The old Cumberland Beggar . . . 234 

II. The Farmer of Tilsbury Vale . . .240 

III. The Small Celandine . . . .244 

IV. The two Thieves ; or, the last Stage of Avarice . 245 
V. Animal Tranquillity and Decay . . . 247 



Epitaphs [I-IX] translated from Chiabrera . 248 

I. Weep not, beloved Friends ! nor let the air . 248 

II. Perhaps some needful service of the State . *248 

III. O Thou who movest onward with a mind . 249 

IV. There never breathed a man who, when his life . 250 
V. True is it that Ambrosio Salinero . . 250 

VI. Destined to war from very infancy . .251 

VII. O flower of all that springs from gentle blood . 252 

VIII. Not without heavy grief of heart did He . . 252 

IX. Pause, courteous Spirit ! Baldi supplicates . 253 

I. By a blest Husband guided, Mary came . . 254 

II. Six months to six years added he remained . 254 

III. Cenotaph in affectionate Remembrance of Frances 
Fermor .... . . , . 255 

IV. Epitaph in the Chapel-yard of Langdale, West- 
moreland ..... 255 

V. Address to the Scholars of the Village School of 256 

VI. Elegiac Stanzas suggested by a Picture of Peele < 

Castle, in a Storm, painted by Sir George Beaumont 25 & 

VII. To the Daisy ..... 260 

VIII. Elegiac Verses in Memory of my Brother, John 

Wordsworth .... . . . . 263 

IX. Sonnet . . . . . .266 

X. Lines composed at Grasmere, during a walk one 
Evening, after a stormy day, the Author having 
just read in a Newspaper that the dissolution of 
Mr. Fox was hourly expected . . .266 

XI. Invocation to the Earth. February, 1816 . 267 

XII. Lines written on a blank Leaf in a Copy of the 
Author's Poem "The Excursion", upon hearing 
of the Death of the late Vicar of Kendal . .268 

XIII. Elegiac Stanzas (Addressed to Sir G. H. B. upon 

the Death of his Sister-in-law) . . . 269 

XIV. Elegiac Musings in the Grounds of Coleorton Hall, 

the Seat of the late Sir G. H. Beaumont, Bart. . 270 

XV. Written after the Death of Charles Lamb . 272 

XVI. Extempore Effusion upon the Death of James Hogg 276 

XVII. Inscription for a Monument in Crosthwaite Church, 

in the Vale of Keswick .... 278 

EARLY CHILDHOOD . . . . .279 





Translation of Virgil's .xEneid . . . 286 

First Book . . . . .286 

Second Book . . . . .310 

Third Book . . . . .336 

IV. 688-92 . . . . .356 

VIII. 337-66 . . . . .356 

Georgic IV. 511-15 . . . .357 



I. From the Alfoxden Notebook . . . 357 

II. Chaucer Modernised. The Manciple, and the Man- 

ciple's Tale ..... 358 

III. Fragments from MS. M . . . .365 

IV. The Tinker ..... 366 
V. Translation of Ariosto . . . .367 

VI. Translations from Metastasio . . . 369 

VII. Translations from Michelangelo : 

I. A Fragment ..... 370 

II. Michael Angelo in Reply to the Passage upon his 
Statue of Mght Sleeping . . .371 

VIII. Come, Gentle Sleep . . . .372 

IX. Translation of the Sestet of a Sonnet by Tasso . 372 

X. Inscription for the Moss -Hut at Dove Cottage . 372 

XI. Distressful Gift ! ..... 372 

XII. On seeing some Tourists of the Lakes pass by reading 374 

XIII. The Orchard Pathway . . . .374 

XIV. St. Paul's . . . . .374 
XV. George and Sarah Green .... 375 

XVI. Translation of Chiabrera's Epitaph on Tasso . 377 

XVII. The Scottish Broom .... 377 

XVIII. Placard for a Poll bearing an old Shirt . . 378 

XIX. Two Epigrams on Byron's Cain . . . 378 

XX. Epitaph (the first six lines only by W. W.) . . 378 

XXI. In the first Page of an Album by one whose Hand- 

writing is wretchedly bad . . . 379 

XXII. Prithee, gentle Lady, list . . . 379 

XXIII. The Lady whom you here behold . . 380 


XXIV. Composed when a Probability existed of our being 

obliged to quit Rydal Mount as a Residence . 381 

XXV. Written in Mrs. Field's Album opposite a Pen- 
and-ink Sketch in the Manner of a Rembrandt . * 
Etching done by Edmund Field . . . 387 

XXVI. Written in the Strangers' Book at "The Station," 

opposite Bowness .... 387 

XXVII. To the Utilitarians . . . .388 

XXVIII. Epigram on an Event in Col. Evans's redoubted 

Performances in Spain .... 388 

XXIX. A Squib on Colonel Evans . . .389 

XXX. Inscription on a Rock at Rydal Mount . . 389 

XXXI. Let more ambitious Poets . . . 390 

XXXII. With a small Present . . . .390 

XXXIII. Though Pulpits and the Desk may fail . . 390 

XXXIV. The Eagle and the Dove . . . .390 

XXXV. Lines inscribed in a Copy of his Poems sent to the 

Queen for the Royal Library at Windsor . 391 

XXXVI. Ode on the Installation of His Royal Highness 
Prince Albert as Chancellor of the University of 
Cambridge, July, 1847 .... 392. 


Evening Voluntaries .... 395 
Poems composed or suggested during a Tour, in the 
Summer of 1833 . . . . 399 

Poems of Sentiment and Reflection . .411 

Sonnets dedicated to Liberty and Order . . 430 

Sonnets upon the Punishment of Death . .433 

Miscellaneous Poems .... 433 
Inscriptions . . . . .441 

Selections from Chaucer, modernised . . 443 

Poems referring to the Period of Old Age . 445 

Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces . . . 448 

I Ode. Intimations of Immortality from Recollec- 
tions of Early Childhood . . . .463 

Appendix A. Translation of Virgil's JEneid 9 etc. . 468 
Appendix B. Poems not included in edition of 
1849-50 . . . . . .470 




[Composed 1832. Published 1835.] 

CALM is the fragrant air, and loth to lose 

Day's grateful warmth, tho' moist with falling dews. 

Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none ; 

Look up a second time, and, one by one, 

You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, 5 

And wonder how they could elude the sight ! 

The birds, of late so noisy in their bowers, 

Warbled a while with faint and fainter powers, 

But now are silent as the dim-seen flowers : 

Nor does the village Church-clock's iron tone 10 

The time's and season's influence disown ; 

Nine beats distinctly to each other bound 

In drowsy sequence how unlike the sound 

That, in rough winter, oft inflicts a fear 

On fireside listeners, doubting what they hear! 15 

The shepherd, bent on rising with the sun, 

Had closed his door before the day was done, 

And now with thankful heart to bed doth creep, 

And joins his little children in their sleep. 

The bat, lured forth where trees the lane o'ershade, 20 

Flits and reflits along the close arcade ; 

The busy dor-hawk chases the white moth 

I. MS. 1 has the title "Twilight by the side of Grasmere Lake" 

12 A twofold sleep the mountain tops (slumber the huge hills) partake 

High in the air and deep within the (in the still) lake MS. 1 
8 not in MS. 1 9 Are hushed and silent . . . MS. 1, which goes on atL27 

11 The night-calm's soothing influence MS. 
1629 An earlier draft runs: 

The Labourer wont to rise at break of day 

Has closed his door, and from the public way 

The sound of hoof or wheel is heard no more ; 

One boat there was, but it has touched the shore, 

That was the last dip of its slackened oar. 
17-21 Has closed his door, the bat her flight begun 

Through the dim air of evening, slow to lose 

Its grateful warmth, though moist with falling dews. MS. 2 
19 joins 1837: join 1835 
201 The flitting Bat here thrids a close arcade 

Of pollard oaks forth tempted by the shade. MS. 3 
2 The busy 1837: Far-heard the 1835 
917.17 IV B 


With burring note, which Industry and Sloth 

Might both be pleased with, for it suits them both. 

A stream is heard I see it not, but know 25 

By its soft music whence the waters flow : 

Wheels and the tread of hoofs are heard no more ; 

One boat there was, but it will touch the shore 

With the next dipping of its slackened oar ; 

Faint sound, that, for the gayest of the gay, 30 

Might give to serious thought a moment's sway, 

As a last token of man's toilsome day! 



Easter Sunday, April 7. 


[Composed April 7, 1833. Published 1835.] 

THE Sun, that seemed so mildly to retire, 

Flung back from distant climes a streaming fire, 

Whose blaze is now subdued to tender gleams, 

Prelude of night's approach with soothing dreams. 

Look round ; of all the clouds not one is moving ; 5 

J Tis the still hour of thinking, feeling, loving. 

Silent, and stedfast as the vaulted sky, 

The boundless plain of waters seems to lie : 

Comes that low sound from breezes rustling o'er 

The grass-crowned headland that conceals the shore ? 10 

No ; 'tis the earth- voice of the mighty sea, 

Whispering how meek and gentle he can be ! 

Thou Power supreme ! who, arming to rebuke 
Offenders, dost put off the gracious look, 
And clothe thyself with terrors like the flood 15 

26-6 not in MS. or 1835 30 Sound that for tripping elves and 

goblins gay MS. 

II. No title in 1836: "Seaside, Moresby" MS. 7 vaulted] concave MS. 

8 TV illimitable ocean MS. 9 sound] voice MS. 10 The cliff 

high raised above the unseen shore ? MS. 

13-16 Dread Power of Powers etc. MS. 2 

Father, who when thy justice must rebuke 

The sinner . . . 

And execute thy purpose MS. 1 


Of ocean roused into his fiercest mood, 

Whatever discipline thy Will ordain 

For the brief course that must for me remain ; 

Teach me with quick-eared spirit to rejoice 

In admonitions of thy softest voice ! 20 

Whate'er the path these mortal feet may trace, 

Breathe through my soul the blessing of thy grace, 

Glad, through a perfect love, a faith sincere 

Drawn from the wisdom that begins with fear, 

Glad to expand ; and, for a season, free 25 

From finite cares, to rest absorbed in Thee ! 


[Composed March-April 1833. Published 1835.] 

THE sun is couched, the sea-fowl gone to rest, 

And the wild storm hath somewhere found a nest ; 

Air slumbers wave with wave no longer strives, 

Only a heaving of the deep survives, 

A tell-tale motion ! soon will it be laid, 5 

And by the tide alone the water swayed. 

Stealthy withdrawings, interminglings mild 

Of light with shade in beauty reconciled 

Such is the prospect far as sight can range, 

The soothing recompence, the welcome change. 10 

Where now the ships that drove before the blast, 

Threatened by angry breakers as they passed ; 

And by a train of flying clouds bemocked ; 

Or, in the hollow surge, at anchor rocked 

As on a bed of death ? Some lodge in peace, 15 

Saved by His care who bade the tempest cease ; 

And some, too heedless of past danger, court 

Fresh gales to waft them to the far-off port ; 

But near, or hanging sea and sky between, 

Not one of all those wingfed powers is seen, 20 

1 7-19 Author and Life of all things! blest are they 

Who, pacing needfully the world's broad way 

Have learned with MSS. 
21-4 not in MSS. 1, 2 

III, (BY THE SEA-SIDE)] Composed by the seaside at Moresby. After 
a Storm MS. 


Seen in her course, nor 'mid this quiet heard ; 

Yet oh ! how gladly would the air be stirred 

By some acknowledgment of thanks and praise, 

Soft in its temper as those vesper lays 

Sung to the Virgin while accordant oars 25 

Urge the slow bark along Calabrian shores ; 

A sea-born service through the mountains felt 

Till into one loved vision all things melt : 

Or like those hymns that soothe with graver sound 

The gulfy coast of Norway iron-bound ; 30 

And, from the wide and open Baltic, rise 

With punctual care, Lutherian harmonies. 

Hush, not a voice is here ! but why repine, 

Now when the star of eve comes forth to shine 

On British waters with that look benign ? 35 

Ye mariners, that plough your onward way, 

Or in the haven rest, or sheltering bay, 

May silent thanks at least to God be given 

With a full heart; "our thoughts are heard in heaven!" 


[Composed 1834. Published 1835.] 

NOT in the lucid intervals of life 

That come but as a curse to party-strife ; 

Not in some hour when Pleasure with a sigh 

Of languor puts his rosy garland by ; 

Not in the breathing-times of that poor slave 5 

Who daily piles up wealth in Mammon's cave 

Is Nature felt, or can be ; nor do words, 

Which practised talent readily affords, 

Prove that her hand has touched responsive chords ; 

28 Till] While MS. 38-9 silent . . . heard} silent . . . heard MS., 1835 

IV". 1-19 Alas, for theln who crave impassioned strife 

How few the lucid intervals of life ; 

When lonely Nature's finer issues hit 

The brain's perceptions, for the heart are fit ; 

With meekness sensibilities abide 

That do but rarely visit stormy pride, 

Full oft the powers of genius are confined 

By chains which round herself she dares to wind. MS. 1 
5 Not in the respite of Ambition's slave MS. 2 
7-1 1 Do lonely Nature's finer issues move 

The soul to rapture or the heart to love. MS. 2 


Nor has her gentle beauty power to move 10 

With genuine rapture and with fervent love 

The soul of Genius, if he dare to take 

Life's rule from passion craved for passion's sake ; 

Untaught that meekness is the cherished bent 

Of all the truly great and all the innocent. 15 

But who is innocent ? By grace divine, 
Not otherwise, O Nature ! we are thine, 
Through good and evil thine, in just degree 
Of rational and manly sympathy. 

To all that Earth from pensive hearts is stealing, 20 

And Heaven is now to gladdened eyes revealing, 
Add every charm the Universe can show 
Through every change its aspects undergo 
Care may be respited, but not repealed ; 
No perfect cure grows on that bounded field. 25 

Vain is the pleasure, a false calm the peace, 
If He, through whom alone our conflicts cease, 
Our virtuous hopes without relapse advance, 
Come not to speed the Soul's deliverance ; 
To the distempered Intellect refuse 3 

His gracious help, or give what we abuse. 


[Composed 1834. Published 1835.] 

THE linnet's warble, sinking towards a close, 

Hints to the thrush 'tis time for their repose ; 

The shrill-voiced thrush is heedless, and again 

The monitor revives his own sweet strain ; 

But both will soon be mastered, and the copse 5 

Be left as silent as the mountain-tops, 

12 dare 1837: dares 1835 15 Of minds unselfish and benevolent. MS. 2 
20-31 Add all that Earth from human sight is stealing 

To all that heaven is at this hour revealing, 

What does it serve for pleasure or for peace 

If he who can alone the Soul release 

From bonds, for her deliverance refuse 

His signet, or his mercy we abuse. MS. 2 
24 A respite only can those medicines yield MS. 1 
V. 612 But a few minutes more of fading light 

Will leave the whole copse voiceless, ere the night 


Ere some commanding star dismiss to rest 

The throng of rooks, that now, from twig or nest, 

(After a steady flight on home-bound wings, 

And a last game of mazy hoverings 10 

Around their ancient grove) with cawing noise 

Disturb the liquid music's equipoise. 

O Nightingale ! Who ever heard thy song 
Might here be moved, till Fancy grows so strong 
That listening sense is pardonably cheated 15 

Where wood or stream by thee was never greeted. 
Surely, from fairest spots of favoured lands, 
Were not some gifts withheld by jealous hands, 
This hour of deepening darkness here would be 
As a fresh morning for new harmony ; 20 

And lays as prompt would hail the dawn of Night : 
A dawn she has both beautiful and bright, 
When the East kindles with the full moon's light ; 
Not like the rising sun's impatient glow 
Dazzling the mountains, but an overflow 25 

Of solemn splendour, in mutation slow. 

Wanderer by spring with gradual progress led, 
For sway profoundly felt as widely spread ; 
To king, to peasant, to rough sailor, dear, 
And to the soldier's trumpet- wearied ear ; 30 

How welcome wouldst thou be to this green Vale 
Fairer than Tempe ! Yet, sweet Nightingale ! 

By some commanding star to silent rest 
Dismiss the rooks that now from bough or nest 
In yon old grove disturb with cawing noise 
The liquid music's [easy ?] equipoise. MS. 

14 Will have it here, and truth receive no wrong MS. 15 That . . . 

is] And ... be MS. 
16-18 Alas when all our Choristers have retreated 

These hills by thy low voice (In vales that by thy voice) are never 


Surely if Nature from most . . . 
Held not some favor back with . . . MS. 

19 deepening darkness] gathering shadows MS. 20 new] thy MS. 

24-6 not in MS., 1836 
27-8 Heart-thrilling Bird mid Eastern roses bred 

For empire deeply etc. MS. 

31-41 Whether thou givest or withhold'st thy lay 
Be ours to walk content with Nature's wav. 


From the warm breeze that bears thee on, alight 

At will, and stay thy migratory flight ; 

Build, at thy choice, or sing, by pool or fount, 35 

Who shall complain, or call thee to account ? 

The wisest, happiest, of our kind are they 

That ever walk content with Nature's way, 

God's goodness measuring bounty as it may; 

For whom the gravest thought of what they miss, 40 

Chastening the fulness of a present bliss, 

Is with that wholesome office satisfied, 

While unrepining sadness is allied 

In thankful bosoms to a modest pride. 


[Composed 1834. Published 1835.] 

SOFT as a cloud is yon blue Ridge the Mere 

Seems firm as solid crystal, breathless, clear, 

And motionless ; and, to the gazer's eye, 

Deeper than ocean, in the immensity 

Of its vague mountains and unreal sky! 5 

But, from the process in that still retreat, 

Turn to minuter changes at our feet ; 

Observe how dewy Twilight has withdrawn 

The crowd of daisies from the shaven lawn, 

And has restored to view its tender green, 10 

That, while the sun rode high, was lost beneath their 

dazzling sheen. 

An emblem this of what the sober Hour 
Can do for minds disposed to feel its power ! 
Thus oft, when we in vain have wish'd away 
The petty pleasures of the garish day, 15 

Meek eve shuts up the whole usurping host 
(Unbashful dwarfs each glittering at his post) 

While at all times and seasons what we miss 
Tempers the fulness of a loving bliss, MS. 
VL 8 Observe] But mark MS. 
13-14 Like office can this sober shadowy hour 

Perform for hearts etc. 

The MS. also preserves II. 8-19 as a separate (chiefly octosyllabic) poem: 
The dewy evening has withdrawn 
The daisies from the shaven lawn 
And has restored its tender green 
Lost while the sun was up beneath their dazzling sheen. 


And leaves the disencumbered spirit free 
To reassume a staid simplicity. 

'Tis well but what are helps of time and place, 20* 
When wisdom stands in need of nature's grace ; 
Why do good thoughts, invoked or not, descend, 
Like Angels from their bowers, our virtues to befriend ; 
If yet To-morrow, unbelied, may say, 
"I come to open out, for fresh display, 25 

The elastic vanities of yesterday ?" 


[Composed 1834. Published 1835.] 

THE leaves that rustled on this oak- crowned hill, 

And sky that danced among those leaves, are still ; 

Rest smooths the way for sleep ; in field and bower 

Soft shades and dews have shed their blended power 

On drooping eyelid and the closing flower ; 5 

Sound is there none at which the faintest heart 

Might leap, the weakest nerve of superstition start ; 

Save when the Owlet's unexpected scream 

Pierces the ethereal vault ; and ('mid the gleam 

Of unsubstantial imagery, the dream, 10 

From the hushed vale's realities, transferred 

To the still lake) the imaginative Bird 

Seems, 'mid inverted mountains, not unheard. 

Grave Creature! whether, while the moon shines 

On thy wings opened wide for smoothest flight, 15 

Like office can this sober hour 

Perform for hearts that feel its power 

When we in vain have wished away 

The garish pleasures of broad day 

While each stood glittering at his post. 

Meek eventide shuts up the whole usurping host 

And leaves the humble spirit free 

To reassume its own simplicity. 
18 the groundwork of our nature free MS. 

VII. MS. has the title "Twilight" 1-2 Ceased is the rustling . . . The 

sky ... is still MS. 
3-5 Advancing slowly from the faded West 

Sleep treads a way prepared for him by Rest. MS. 
7 suDerstitionl fancy MS. 8 at intervals the Owlet's scream MS. 


Thou art discovered in a roofless tower, 

Rising from what may once have been a lady's bower ; 

Or spied where thou sitt'st moping in thy mew 

At the dim centre of a churchyard yew ; 

Or from a rifted crag or ivy tod 20 

Deep in a forest, thy secure abode, 

Thou giv'st, for pastime's sake, by shriek or shout, 

A puzzling notice of thy whereabout 

May the night never come, nor day be seen, 

When I shall scorn thy voice or mock thy mien ! 25 

In classic ages men perceived a soul 
Of sapience in thy aspect, headless Owl ! 
Thee Athens reverenced in the studious grove ; 
And near the golden sceptre grasped by Jove, 
His Eagle's favourite perch, while round him sate 3 

The Gods revolving the decrees of Fate, 
Thou, too, wert present at Minerva's side : 
Hark to that second larum ! far and wide 
The elements have heard, and rock and cave replied. 


[Composed June 8, 1802. Published 1807; omitted from edd. 1815-32; 
republished 1835.] 

This Impromptu appeared, many years ago, among the Author's poems, 
from which, in subsequent editions, it was excluded. It is reprinted at 
the request of the Friend in whose presence the lines were thrown off. 

THE sun has long been set, 

The stars are out by twos and threes, 

The little birds are piping yet 
Among the bushes and trees ; 

There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes, 5 

And a far-off wind that rushes, 

And a sound of water that gushes, 

And the cuckoo's sovereign cry 

Fills all the hollow of the sky. 

16 encountered in a moon-lit MS. 

19/20 Or in a glimmering Barn when thou dost chuse 

(Wishing the Sun good speed) to mope and muse MS. 
20 Or watch for food; or from an ivy tod MS. 
23/4 Or hast been robbed of liberty and joy 

The drooping Captive of a thoughtless boy MS. 
VIII. 6 And a noise of MSS., 1807 7 With a noise of MSS., 1807 


Who would go "parading" 10 

In London, and "masquerading," 
On such a night of June 
With that beautiful soft half-moon, 
And all these innocent blisses ? 
On such a night as this is ! 15 



[Composed summer, 1817. Published 1820.] 


HAD this effulgence disappeared 
With flying haste, I might have sent, 
Among the speechless clouds, a look 
Of blank astonishment ; 

But 'tis endued with power to stay, 5 

And sanctify one closing day, 
That frail Mortality may see 
What is ? ah no, but what can be ! 
Time was when field and watery cove 
With modulated echoes rang, 10 

While choirs of fervent Angels sang 
Their vespers iri the grove ; 

Or, crowning, star-like, each some sovereign height, 
Warbled, for heaven above arid earth below, 
Strains suitable to both. Such holy rite, 15 

Methinks, if audibly repeated now 

11 and "masquerading" 1807: "and masquerading" 1835-50 
13/14 With what the breathless Lake is feeling 

And what the dewy air to peace dismisses, 

With all that "JEJarth from pensive hearts is stealing 

And Heaven to gladdened eyes revealing, MSS. 

IX. Composed during a sunset of transcendent Beauty, in the summer of 
1817. MS. Evening Ode, (Composed etc. as text) 1820 6 sanctify] 

solemnize MS. 
11-12 Of harp and voice while Angels sang 

Amid the umbrageous grove MS. 

13 so 1832: Or, ranged like stars along some MS., 1820-7 
15-18 . . . Ye sons of Light, 

If such communion were repeated now 

Nor harp nor Seraph's voice could move 

Sublimer rapture, holier love MS. 


From hill or valley, could not move 

Sublimer transport, purer love, 

Than doth this silent spectacle the gleam 

The shadow and the peace supreme ! 20 


No sound is uttered, but a deep 
And solemn harmony pervades 
The hollow vale from steep to steep, 
And penetrates the glades. 

Far-distant images draw nigh, 25 

Called forth by wondrous potency 
Of beamy radiance, that imbues 
Whatc'er it strikes with gem-like hues! 
In vision exquisitely clear, 

Herds range along the mountain side ; 30 

And glistening antlers are descried ; 
And gilded flocks appear. 
Thine is the tranquil hour, purpureal Eve ! 
But long as god-like wish, or hope divine, 
Informs my spirit, ne'er can I believe 35 

That this magnificence is wholly thine ! 
From worlds not quickened by the sun 
A portion of the gift is won ; 
An intermingling of Heaven's pomp is spread 
On grounds which British shepherds tread ! 40 


And, if there be whom broken ties 
Afflict, or injuries assail, 
Yon hazy ridges to their eyes 
Present a glorious scale, 

Climbing suffused with sunny air, 45 

To stop no record hath told where ! 

21 What though no sound be heard, a deep MS, 30 range] graze 

MS. 37 not quickened] unquicken'd MS. 
41-9 And if they wish for smooth escape 

From grief and this terrestrial vale, 

Yon hazy (mountain) ridges take (rocks and clouds present) the shape 

Of stairs a gradual scale, 

By which the fancy might ascend 

And with those happy spirits blend 

Whose motions smitten with glad awe 

By night the dreaming Patriarch saw 

Wings etc. MS. 


And tempting Fancy to ascend, 

And with immortal Spirits blend ! 

Wings at my shoulders seem to play ; 

But, rooted here, I stand and gaze 50 

On those bright steps that heavenward raise 

Their practicable way. 

Come forth, ye drooping old men, look abroad, 

And see to what fair countries ye are bound ! 

And if some traveller, weary of his road, 55 

Hath slept since noon-tide on the grassy ground, 

Ye Genii ! to his covert speed ; 

And wake him with such gentle heed 

As may attune his soul to meet the dower 

Bestowed on this transcendent hour! 60 


Such hues from their celestial Urn 

Were wont to stream before mine eye, 

Where'er it wandered in the morn 

Of blissful infancy. 

This glimpse of glory, why renewed ? 65 

Nay, rather speak with gratitude ; 

For, if a vestige of those gleams 

Survived, 'twas only in my dreams. 

Dread Power ! whom peace and calmness serve 

No less than Nature's threatening voice, 70 

If aught unworthy be my choice, 

From THEE if I would swerve ; 

Oh, let Thy grace remind me of the light 

Full early lost, and fruitlessly deplored ; 

Which, at this moment, on my waking sight 75 

Appears to shine, by miracle restored ; 

49 shoulders 1837: shoulder 1820-32 53 Come from your doors ye old 
men MS. 67-8 covert speed . . . heed] couch repair . . . care MS. 

61-3 Whence but from some celestial Urn 

Those colours, wont to meet my eye 

Where'er I MS. 
62 mine 1837: my 1820-32 
69-70 whom storms and darkness serve. The thunder or the still small 



My soul, though yet confined to earth, 

Rejoices in a second birth! 

Tis past, the visionary splendour fades ; 

And night approaches with her shades. 80 

Note The multiplication of mountain-ridges, described at the com- 
mencement of the third Stanza of this Ode as a kind of Jacob's Ladder, 
leading to Heaven, is produced either by watery vapours, or sunny haze ; 
in the present instance by the latter cause. Allusions to the Ode entitled 
"Intimations of Immortality" pervade the last Stanza of the foregoing 



[Composed 1833. Published 1842.] 
WHAT mischief cleaves to unsubdued regret, 
How fancy sickens by vague hopes beset ; 
How baffled projects on the spirit prey, 
And fruitless wishes eat the heart away, 
The Sailor knows ; he best, whose lot is cast 5 

On the relentless sea that holds him fast 
On chance dependent, and the fickle star 
Of power, through long and melancholy war. 
O sad it is, in sight of foreign shores, 
Daily to think on old familiar doors, 10 

Hearths loved in childhood, and ancestral floors ; 
Or, tossed about along a waste of foam, 
To ruminate on that delightful home 
Which with the dear Betrothed was to come ; 
Or came and was and is, yet meets the eye 15 

Never but in the world of memory ; 
Or in a dream recalled, whose smoothest range 
Is crossed by knowledge, or by dread, of change, 
And if not so, whose perfect joy makes sleep 
A thing too bright for breathing man to keep. 20 

Hail to the virtues which that perilous life 
Extracts from Nature's elemental strife ; 
And welcome glory won in battles fought 
As bravely as the foe was keenly sought. 
But to each gallant Captain and his crew 25 

A less imperious sympathy is due, 

X. 1-8 not in MS. 20 Too bright for mortal Creature long to 

keep MS. 


Such as my verse now yields, while moonbeams play 

On the mute sea in this unruffled bay ; 

Such as will promptly flow from every breast, 

Where good men, disappointed in the quest 30 

Of wealth and power and honours, long for rest ; 

Or, having known the splendours of success, 

Sigh for the obscurities of happiness. 


[Composed February 25, 1841. Published 1842.] 

THE Crescent-moon, the Star of Love, 

Glories of evening, as ye there are seen 

With but a span of sky between 

Speak one of you, my doubts remove, 
Which is the attendant Page and which the Queen ? 5 


[Composed 1836. Published 1837.] 

WANDERER! that stoop'st so low, and com'st so near 

To human life's unsettled atmosphere ; 

Who lov'st with Night and Silence to partake, 

So might it seem, the cares of them that wake ; 

And, through the cottage-lattice softly peeping, 5 

Dost shield from harm the humblest of the sleeping ; 

What pleasure once encompassed those sweet names 

Which yet in thy behalf the Poet claims, 

An idolizing dreamer as of yore ! 

I slight them all ; and, on this sea-beat shore 10 

Sole-sitting, only can to thoughts attend 

That bid me hail thee as the SAILOR'S FRIEND ; 

So call thee for heaven's grace through thee made known 

By confidence supplied and mercy shown, 

When not a twinkling star or beacon's light 15 

Abates the perils of a stormy night ; 

And for less obvious benefits, that find 

XI. 1 Crescent-] setting MS. 2-3 Bright Pair! with but a span of 
sky between MSS. 

XII. For MS. draft v. notes, p. 398. 


Their way, with thy pure help, to heart and mind ; 

Both for the adventurer starting in life's prime ; 

And veteran ranging round from clime to clime, 20 

Long-baffled hope's slow fever in his veins, 

And wounds and weakness oft his labour's sole remains. 

The aspiring Mountains and the winding Streams, 
Empress of Night! are gladdened by thy beams ; 
A look of thine the wilderness pervades, 25 

And penetrates the forest's inmost shades ; 
Thou, chequering peaceably the minster's gloom, 
Guid'st the pale Mourner to the lost one's tomb ; 
Canst reach the Prisoner to his grated cell 
Welcome, though silent and intangible ! 30 

And lives there one, of all that come and go 
On the great waters toiling to and fro, 
One, who has watched thee at some quiet hour 
Enthroned aloft in undisputed power, 
Or crossed by vapoury streaks and clouds that move 35 
Catching the lustre they in part reprove 
Nor sometimes felt a fitness in thy sway 
To call up thoughts that shun the glare of day, 
And make the serious happier than the gay ? 

Yes, lovely Moon ! if thou so mildly bright 40 

Dost rouse, yet surely in thy own despite, 
To fiercer mood the frenzy-stricken brain, 
Let me a compensating faith maintain ; 
That there's a sensitive, a tender, part 
Which thou canst touch in every human heart, 45 

For healing and composure. But, as least 
And mightiest billows ever have confessed 
Thy domination ; as the whole vast Sea 
Feels through her lowest depths thy sovereignty ; 
So shines that countenance with especial grace 50 

On them who urge the keel her plains to trace 
Furrowing its way right onward. The most rude, 
Cut off from home and country, may have stood 
Even till long gazing hath bedimmed his eye, 
Or the mute rapture ended in a sigh 55 

Touched by accordance of thy placid cheer, 
With some internal lights to memory dear, 


Or fancies stealing forth to soothe the breast 

Tired with its daily share of earth's unrest, 

Gentle awakenings, visitations meek ; 60 

A kindly influence whereof few will speak, 

Though it can wet with tears the hardiest cheek. 

And when thy beauty in the shadowy cave 
Is hidden, buried in its monthly grave ; 
Then, while the Sailor, 'mid an open sea 65 

Swept by a favouring wind that leaves thought free, 
Paces the deck no star perhaps in sight, 
And nothing save the moving ship's own light 
To cheer the long dark hours of vacant night 
Oft with his musings does thy image blend, 70 

In his mind's eye thy crescent horns ascend, 
And thou art still, O Moon, that SAILOR'S FRIEND ! 



[Composed 1835. Published 1837.] 

QUEEN of the stars ! so gentle, so benign, 

That ancient Fable did to thee assign, 

When darkness creeping o'er thy silver brow 

Warned thee these upper regions to forego, 

Alternate empire in the shades below 5 

A Bard, who, lately near the wide-spread sea 

Traversed by gleaming ships, looked up to thee 

With grateful thoughts, doth now thy rising hail 

From the close confines of a shadowy vale. 

Glory of night, conspicuous yet serene, 10 

Nor less attractive when by glimpses seen 

Through cloudy umbrage, well might that fair face, 

And all those attributes of modest grace, 

In days when Fancy wrought unchecked by fear, 

Down to the green earth fetch thee from thy sphere, 15 

To sit in leafy woods by fountains clear ! 

XIII. 1-4 Queen of the Stars, as bright as when of yore 
Whole nations knelt thy presence to adore 
Thou to whom Fable gave (Truth loved thee so) 
When thou [wort] doomed these regions etc. MS. 


O still belov'd (for thine, meek Power, are charms 
That fascinate the very Babe in arms, 
While he, uplifted towards thee, laughs outright, 
Spreading his little palms in his glad Mother's sight) 20 
O still belov'd, once worshipped ! Time, that frowns 
In his destructive flight on earthly crowns, 
Spares thy mild splendour ; still those far-shot beams 
Tremble on dancing waves and rippling streams 
With stainless touch, as chaste as when thy praise 25 

Was sung by Virgin- choirs in festal lays ; 
And through dark trials still dost thou explore 
Thy way for increase punctual as of yore, 
When teeming Matrons yielding to rude faith 
In mysteries of birth and life and death 30 

And painful struggle and deliverance prayed 
Of thee to visit them with lenient aid. 
What though the rites be swept away, the fanes 
Extinct that echoed to the votive strains ; 
Yet thy mild aspect does not, cannot, cease 35 

Love to promote and purity and peace ; 
And Fancy, unreproved, even yet may trace 
Faint types of suffering in thy beamless face. 

Then, silent Monitress ! let us not blind 
To worlds unthought of till the searching mind 40 

Of Science laid them open to mankind 
Told, also, how the voiceless heavens declare 
God's glory ; and acknowledging thy share 
In that blest charge ; let us without offence 
To aught of highest, holiest, influence 45 

Receive whatever good 'tis given thee to dispense. 
May sage and simple, catching with one eye 
The moral intimations of the sky, 
Learn from thy course, where'er their own be taken, 
"To look on tempests, and be never shaken ;" 50 

To keep with faithful step the appointed way 
Eclipsing or eclipsed, by night or day, 
And from example of thy monthly range 
Gently to brook decline and fatal change ; 
Meek, patient, stedfast, and with loftier scope, 55 

Than thy revival yields, for gladsome hope! 

917.17 IV O 




[Composed February 11, 1846. Published I860.] 
GIORDANO, verily thy Pencil's skill 
Hath here portrayed with Nature's happiest grace 
The fair Endymion couched on Latmos-hill ; 
And Diari gazing on the Shepherd's face 
In rapture, yet suspending her embrace, 5 

As not unconscious with what power the thrill 
Of her most timid touch his sleep would chase, 
And, with his sleep, that beauty calm and still. 
may this work have found its last retreat 
Here in a Mountain-bard's secure abode, 10 

One to whom, yet a School-boy, Cynthia showed 
A face of love which he in love would greet, 
Fixed, by her smile, upon some rocky seat ; 
Or lured along where green- wood paths he trod. 



[Composed June 10, 1846. Published 1850.] 
WHO but is pleased to watch the moon on high 
Travelling where she from time to time enshrouds 
Her head, and nothing loth her Majesty 
Renounces, till among the scattered clouds 
One with its kindling edge declares that soon 5 

Will reappear before the uplifted eye 
A Form as bright, as beautiful a moon, 
To glide in open prospect through clear sky. 
Pity that such a promise e'er should prove 
False in the issue, that yon seeming space 10 

Of sky should be in truth the stedfast face 
Of a cloud flat and dense, through which must move 
(By transit not unlike man's frequent doom) 
The Wanderer lost in more determined gloom. 

XIV. TO LUCCA QIOBDANO] Upon a picture brought from Italy by my Son, 
which, together with its Companions, now hangs at Rydal Mount MS. 

XV. 1-2 Who but has watched the Queen of Night on high 

Travelling where ever and anon she shrouds MS. 
8 To glide] Gliding MS. 
13-14 The Wanderer lost in more enduring gloom 

Delusive lot ; how like Man's frequent doom ! MS. 



[Composed January 10, 1846. Published I860.] 

WHERE lies the truth ? has Man, in wisdom's creed, 

A pitiable doom ; for respite brief 

A care more anxious, or a heavier grief ? 

Is he ungrateful, and doth little heed 

God's bounty, soon forgotten ; or indeed, 5 

Must Man, with labour born, awake to sorrow 

When Flowers rejoice and Larks with rival speed 

Spring from their nests to bid the Sun good morrow ? 

They mount for rapture as their songs proclaim 

Warbled in hearing both of earth and sky ; 10 

But o'er the contrast wherefore heave a sigh ? 

Like those aspirants let us soar our aim, 

Through life's worst trials, whether shocks or snares, 

A happier, brighter, purer Heaven than theirs. 

KVI. 4-6 Ungrateful is he taking little heed 

Of bounty soon forgotten ? or indeed 

Is not Man made to mourn, must wake to sorrow MS. 1 
8 Who but must fear that he may wake to sorrow, corr. to Who that lies 
down, and may not wake etc. MS. 2 9 as] ; thisMSS. 11 heave a] 
should we MS. 1 



OF 1833 

[Except when otherwise stated, composed in 1833. Published in 1835.] 

Having been prevented by the lateness of the season, in 1831, from visiting 
Staffa and lona, the author made these the principal objects of a short 
tour in the summer of 1833, of which the following Series of Poems is a 
Memorial. The course pursued was down the Cumberland river Derwent, 
and to Whitehaven ; thence (by the Isle of Man, where a few days were 
passed) up the Frith of Clyde to Greenock, then to Oban, Staffa, lona ; 
and back towards England, by Loch Awe, Inverary, Loch Goil-head, 
Greenock, and through parts of Renfrewshire, Ayrshire, and Dumfries- 
shire, to Carlisle, and thence up the river Eden, and homewards by 


ADIEU, Rydalian Laurels ! that have grown 

And spread as if ye knew that days might come 

When ye would shelter in a happy home, 

On this fair Mount, a Poet of your own, 

One who ne'er ventured for a Delphic crown 5 

To sue the God ; but, haunting your green shade 

All seasons through, is humbly pleased to braid 

Ground-flowers, beneath your guardianship, self-sown. 

Farewell ! no Minstrels now with harp new-strung 

For summer wandering quit their household bowers ; 10 

Yet not for this wants Poesy a tongue 

To cheer the Itinerant on whom she pours 

Her spirit, while he crosses lonely moors, 

Or musing sits forsaken halls among. 


WHY should the Enthusiast, journeying through this Isle, 
Repine as if his hour were come too late ? 


ETC. 1835-43 

I. 5 a Delphic] fame's deathless MS. 

6-6 One who to win your emblematic crown 

Aspires not, but frequenting etc. 

Who dares not sue the God for your bright crown 

Of deathless leaves, but haunting etc. K 
7 delights fresh wreaths to braid K 

II. 13 The Enthusiast, wandering through this favoured Isle 
Seeks not his pleasure in an age too late 

From many an ivied tower enthroned in state MS. 


Not unprotected in her mouldering state, 

Antiquity salutes him with a smile, 

'Mid fruitful fields that ring with jocund toil, 5 

And pleasure-grounds where Taste, refined Co-mate 

Of Truth and Beauty, strives to imitate, 

Far as she may, primeval Nature's style. 

Fair Land! by Time's parental love made free, 

By Social Order's watchful arms embraced ; 10 

With unexampled union meet in thee, 

For eye and mind, the present and the past ; 

With golden prospect for futurity, 

If that be reverenced which ought to last, 


THEY called Thee MERRY ENGLAND, in old time ; 

A happy people won for thee that name 

With envy heard in many a distant clime ; 

And, spite of change, for me thou keep'st the same 

Endearing title, a responsive chime 5 

To the heart's fond belief; though some there are 

Whose sterner judgments deem that word a snare 

For inattentive Fancy, like the lime 

Which foolish birds are caught with. Can, I ask, 

This face of rural beauty be a mask ro 

For discontent, and poverty, and crime ; 

These spreading towns a cloak for lawless will ? 

Forbid it, Heaven ! and MERRY ENGLAND still 

Shall be thy rightful name, in prose and rhyme ! 



GRETA, what fearful listening ! when huge stones 
Rumble along thy bed, block after block: 
Or, whirling with reiterated shock, 

5 jocund] happy MS. 

9-11 Fair land of Mountains mid thy guardian sea 

By social Order faithfully embraced 

So long, with matchless etc. 

14 so 1845: If what is rightly reverenced may last. MS., 1836-43 
III. 7 Observers stern, who MS. 9-10 Can ... be a] Is ... a mere 

MS. 13 and 1837: that 1835 14 Shall 1837: May 1835 


Combat, while darkness aggravates the groans : 

But if thou (like Cocytus from the moans 5 

Heard on his rueful margin) thence wert named 

The Mourner, thy true nature was defamed, 

And the habitual murmur that atones 

For thy worst rage, forgotten. Oft as Spring 

Decks, on thy sinuous banks, her thousand thrones, 10 

Seats of glad instinct and love's carolling, 

The concert, for the happy, then may vie 

With liveliest peals of birth-day harmony; 

To a grieved heart the notes are benisons. 

[Composed ?. Published 1819.] 

AMONG the mountains were we nursed, loved Stream ! 

Thou near the eagle's nest within brief sail, 

I, of his bold wing floating on the gale, 

Where thy deep voice could lull me ! Faint the beam 

Of human life when first allowed to gleam ' 5 

On mortal notice. Glory of the vale, 

Such thy meek outset, with a crown, though frail, 

Kept in perpetual verdure by the steam 

Of thy soft breath ! Less vivid wreath entwined 

Nemean victor's brow ; less bright was worn, 10 

Meed of some Roman chief in triumph borne 

With captives chained ; and shedding from his car 

The sunset splendours of a finished war 

Upon the proud enslavers of mankind ! 


(Where the Author was born, and his Father's remains are laid.) 

A POINT of life between my Parents' dust, 
And yours, my buried Little-ones ! am I ; 
And to those graves looking habitually 

IV. 7 true] glad MS. 

11 Seats of glad] For joyous MS. 

V. 1 nursed] born MS. 10 Nemean] The Isthmian MS. : Nemsean 

VI. On the Sight of Coekermouth Church MS. 


In kindred quiet I repose my trust. 

Death to the innocent is more than just, 5 

And, to the sinner, mercifully bent ; 

So may I hope, if truly I repent 

And meekly bear the ills which bear I must ; 

And You, my Offspring ! that do still remain, 

Yet may outstrip me in the appointed race, f o 

If e'er, through fault of mine, in mutual pain 

We breathed together for a moment's space, 

The wrong, by love provoked, let love arraign, 

And only love keep in your hearts a place. 



"THOU look'st upon me, and dost fondly think, 

Poet ! that, stricken as both are by years, 

We, differing once so much, are now Compeers, 

Prepared, when each has stood his time, to sink 

Into the dust. Erewhile a sterner link 5 

United us ; when thou, in boyish play, 

Entering my dungeon, didst become a prey 

To soul-appalling darkness. Not a blink 

Of light was there ; and thus did I, thy Tutor, 

Make thy young thoughts acquainted with the grave ; 10 

While thou wert chasing the wing'd butterfly 

Through my green courts ; or climbing, a bold suitor, 

Up to the flowers whose golden progeny 

Still round my shattered brow in beauty wave." 



THE cattle crowding round this beverage clear 

To slake their thirst, with reckless hoofs have trod 

The encircling turf into a barren clod ; 

Through which the waters creep, then disappear, 

Born to be lost in Derwent flowing near ; 5 

Yet, o'er the brink, and round the limestone cell 

Of the pure spring (they call it the "Nun's Well/' 

VII. CASTLE] Castle To the Author MS. 

VIII. 4 And tho' the infant waters disappear MS. 


Name that first struck by chance my startled ear) 

A tender Spirit broods the pensive Shade 

Of ritual honours to this Fountain paid 10 

By hooded Votaresses with saintly cheer ; 

Albeit oft the Virgin-mother mild 

Looked down with pity upon eyes beguiled 

Into the shedding of "too soft a tear." 



On the banks of the Derwent. 
[Composed probably January 1834.] 

PASTOR and Patriot ! at whose bidding rise 

These modest Avails, amid a flock that need, 

For one who comes to watch them and to feed, 

A fixed Abode keep down presageful sighs. 

Threats, which the unthinking only can despise, 5 

Perplex the Church ; but be thou firm, be true 

To thy first hope, and this good work pursue, 

Poor as thou art. A welcome sacrifice 

Dost Thou prepare, whose sign will be the smoke 

Of thy new hearth ; and sooner shall its wreaths, 10 

Mounting while earth her morning incense breathes, 

From wandering fiends of air receive a yoke, 

And straightway cease to aspire, than God disdain 

This humble tribute as ill-timed or vain. 


Landing at the mouth of the Derwent, Workington. 

DEAR to the Loves, and to the Graces vowed, 
The Queen drew back the wimple that she wore ; 
And to the throng, that on the Cumbrian shore 
Her landing hailed, how touchingly she bowed ! 

11 votaresses 1837: Votaries 1835 

IX. 4 presageful] foreboding MSS. 9 To Him who dwells in Heaven 

X. 3-4 So 1837: 

. . . how touchingly she bowed 
That hailed her landing on the Cumbrian shore MS,, 1835 


And like a Star (that, from a heavy cloud 5 

Of pine-tree foliage poised in air, forth darts, 

When a soft summer gale at evening parts 

The gloom that did its loveliness enshroud) 

She smiled ; but Time, the old Saturnian Seer, 

Sighed on the wing as her foot pressed the strand, 10 

With step prelusive to a long array 

Of woes and degradations hand in hand 

Weeping captivity, and shuddering fear 

Stilled by the ensanguined block of Fotheringay ! 




IF Life were slumber on a bed of down, 

Toil unimposed, vicissitude unknown, 

Sad were our lot : no hunter of the hare 

Exults like him whose javelin from the lair 

Has roused the lion ; no one plucks the rose, 5 

Whose proffered beauty in safe shelter blows 

'Mid a trim garden's summer luxuries, 

With joy like his who climbs, on hands and knees, 

For some rare plant, yon Headland of St. Bees. 

This independence upon oar and sail, 10 

This new indifference to breeze or gale, 

This straight-lined progress, furrowing a flat lea, 

And regular as if locked in certainty 

Depress the hours. Up, Spirit of the storm! 

That Courage may find something to perform ; 15 

That Fortitude, whose blood disdains to freeze 

6 And like . . . heavy 1840: Bright as . . . sombre MS., 1835-7 

6 High poised in air, of pine-tree foliage, darts MS. 9 Seer 1835-43: 

seer 1845 

11-14 Thence forth he saw a long and long array 

Of miserable seasons . . . 

. . . pallid fear 

And last etc. MS. 
XI. 6-7 That mid smooth pathway in a garden blows 

For easy -minded men itself at ease MS. 2 
14 Depress] Deaden MS. 2 


At Danger's bidding, may confront the seas, 
Firm as the towering Headlands of St. Bees. 

Dread cliff of Baruth ! that wild wish may sleep, 

Bold as if men and creatures of the Deep 20 

Breathed the same element ; too many wrecks 

Have struck thy sides, too many ghastly decks 

Hast thou looked down upon, that such a thought 

Should here be welcome, and in verse enwrought : 

With thy stern aspect better far agrees 25 

Utterance of thanks that we have past with ease, 

As millions thus shall do, the Headlands of St. Bees. 

Yet, while each useful Art augments her store, 
What boots the gain if Nature should lose more ? 
And Wisdom, as she holds a Christian place 30 

In man's intelligence sublimed by grace ? 
When Bega sought of yore the Cumbrian coast, 
Tempestuous winds her holy errand cross ? d: 
She knelt in prayer the waves their wrath appease ; 
And, from her vow well weighed in Heaven's decrees, 35* 
Rose, where she touched the strand, the Chantry of St. 

"Cruel of heart were they, bloody of hand," 

Who in these Wilds then struggled for command ; 

The strong were merciless, without hope the weak ; 

Till this bright Stranger came, fair as day-break, 40 

And as a cresset true that darts its length 

Of beamy lustre from a tower of strength ; 

Guiding the mariner through troubled seas, 

And cheering oft his peaceful reveries, 

Like the fixed Light that crowns yon Headland of St.Bees. 

To aid the Votaress, miracles believed 46 

Wrought in men's minds, like miracles achieved ; 

28 Much has Art gained thus linking shore with shore MS. 2 30 as 

she holds 1845: that once held 1835-43 33 A wild sea-storm MS. 2 

33/4 As high and higher heaved the billows, faith 

Grew with them, mightier than the powers of death. 1835 

34 Kneeling . . . that storm she did appease MS. 46 In those rude ages MS. 2 

46-8 Dread Cliff of Baruth, thus thy ancient claim 
Gave way at length to Bega's softened name 
She too hath been obscured, but verse shall tell MS. 1 


So piety took root ; and Song might tell 

What humanizing virtues near her cell 

Sprang up, and spread their fragrance wide around ; 50 

How savage bosoms melted at the sound 

Of gospel-truth enchained in harmonies 

Wafted o'er waves, or creeping through close trees, 

From her religious Mansion of St. Bees. 

When her sweet Voice, that instrument of love, 55 

Was glorified, and took its place, above 

The silent stars, among the angelic quire, 

Her chantry blazed with sacrilegious fire, 

And perished utterly ; but her good deeds 

Had sown the spot, that witnessed them, with seeds 60 

Which lay in earth expectant, till a breeze 

With quickening impulse answered their mute pleas, 

And lo! a statelier pile, the Abbey of St. Bees. 

There are the naked clothed, the hungry fed ; 

And Charity exteiideth to the dead 65 

Her intercessions made for the soul's rest 

Of tardy penitents ; or for the best 

Among the good (when love might else have slept, 

Sickened, or died) in pious memory kept : 

Thanks to the austere and simple Devotees, 70 

Who, to that service bound by venial fees, 

Keep watch before the altars of St. Bees. 

Are not, in sooth, their Requiems sacred ties 

Woven out of passion's sharpest agonies, 

Subdued, composed, and formalized by art, 75 

To fix a wiser sorrow in the heart ? 

49 near 1837: round 1835 

56-61 Had long held concord in the Quires above 

Her altars sank, crushed by an impious hand, 

And Pagan rites once more defiled the land, 

But might not kill her memory: her good deeds 

Flourished no longer, but had scattered seeds 

That in the ground lay patient, till a breeze MS. 1 
56-9 Had long been tuned, the silent stars above 

In blissful concert with etc. a# text 

Her chantry perished in devouring fire 

Launched out of Pagan hands MS. 2 

64 are 1837: were 1835 65 extendeth 1837: extended 1835 66 
Her prayers and masses MS. 2 69 Sickened,] Languished. 73 

Are 1837: Were 1835 


The prayer for them whose hour is past away 

Says to the Living, profit while ye may ! 

A little part, and that the worst, he sees 

Who thinks that priestly cunning holds the keys 80 

That best unlock the secrets of St. Bees. 

Conscience, the timid being's inmost light, 

Hope of the dawn and solace of the night, 

Cheers these Recluses with a steady ray 

In many an hour when judgment goes astray. 85 

Ah ! scorn not hastily their rule who try 

Earth to despise, and flesh to mortify ; 

Consume with zeal, in winged ecstasies 

Of prayer and praise forget their rosaries, 

Nor hear the loudest surges of St. Bees. 90 

Yet none so prompt to succour and protect 

The forlorn traveller, or sailor wrecked 

On the bare coast ; nor do they grudge the boon 

Which staff and cockle hat and sandal shoon 

Claim for the pilgrim : and, though chidings sharp 95 

May sometimes greet the strolling minstrel's harp, 

It is not then when, swept with sportive ease, 

It charms a feast-day throng of all degrees, 

Brightening the archway of revered St. Bees. 

How did the cliffs and echoing hills rejoice 100 

What time the Benedictine Brethren's voice, 

Imploring, or commanding with meet pride, 

Summoned the Chiefs to lay their feuds aside, 

And under one blest ensign serve the Lord 

In Palestine. Advance, indignant Sword! 105 

Flaming till thou from Panym hands release 

That Tomb, dread* centre of all sanctities 

Nursed in the quiet Abbey of St. Bees. 

But look we now to them whose minds from far 

Follow the fortunes which they may not share. no 

77-8 is ... Says 1837: was . . . Said 1835 

100-1 How did the Mountain echoes with glad choice 

Of syllables take up the Brethren's MS. 2 
108/9 On, Champions, on ! But mark ! the passing Day 

Submits her intercourse to milder sway, 1835 

109 so 1837: With high and low whose busy thoughts from far 1835 
109-12 Meanwhile for High and Low the passing Day 


While in Judea Fancy loves to roam, 

She helps to make a Holy-land at home : 

The Star of Bethlehem from its sphere invites 

To sound the crystal depth of maiden rights ; 

And wedded Life, through scriptural mysteries, 115 

Heavenward ascends with all her charities. 

Taught by the hooded Celibates of St. Bees. 

Nor be it e'er forgotten how by skill 

Of cloistered Architects, free their souls to fill 

With love of God, throughout the Land were raised 120 

Churches, on whose symbolic beauty gazed 

Peasant and mail-clad Chief with pious awe ; 

As at this day men seeing what they saw, 

Or the bare wreck of faith's solemnities, 

Aspire to more than earthly destinies ; 125 

Witness yon Pile that greets us from St. Bees. 

Yet more ; around those Churches, gathered Towns 

Safe from the feudal Castle's haughty frowns ; 

Peaceful abodes, where Justice might uphold 

Her scales with even hand, and culture mould 130 

The heart to pity, train the mind in care 

For rules of life, sound as the Time could bear. 

Nor dost thou fail, thro 5 abject love of ease, 

Or hindrance raised by sordid purposes, 

To bear thy part in this good work, St. Bees. 135 

Who with the ploughshare clove the barren moors, 
And to green meadows changed the swampy shores ? 
Thinned the rank woods ; and for the cheerful grange 
Made room where wolf and boar were used to range ? 
Who taught, and showed by deeds, that gentler chains 140 
Should bind the vassal to his lord's domains ? 

Submits its intercourse to milder sway 
The Knight who in Judea may not roam 
Can find or make his Holy-land etc. MS. 2 

118-35 om. 1835-43 119 Architects . . . souls] builders . . . hearts 

C 120 were for his worship raised C 121 For worship struc- 

tures on whose beauty C 123 men] we C 125 Uplift our hearts 

for blissful (May lift the heart to heavenly oorr. to blissful) C 
136-9 Mountains of Caupland what delight was yours 
When plough invaded at your feet the moors, 
When hatchets thinned the forests, and the grange 
Appeared etc. MS. 2 


The thoughtful Monks, intent their God to please, 
For Christ's dear sake, by human sympathies 
Poured from the bosom of thy Church, St. Bees ! 

But all availed not ; by a mandate given 145 

Through lawless will the Brotherhood was driven 

Forth from their cells ; their ancient House laid low 

In Reformation's sweeping overthrow. 

But now once more the local Heart revives, 

The inextinguishable Spirit strives. 150 

Oh may that Power who hushed the stormy seas, 

And cleared a way for the first Votaries, 

Prosper the new-born College of St. Bees ! 

Alas ! the Genius of our age, from Schools 

Less humble, draws her lessons, aims, and rules. 155 

To Prowess guided by her insight keen 

Matter and Spirit are as one Machine ; 

Boastful Idolatress of formal skill 

She in her own would merge the eternal will : 

Better, if Reason's triumphs match with these, i6o % 

Her flight before the bold credulities 

That furthered the first teaching of St. Bees. 1 




RANGING the heights of Scawfell or Blackcomb, 
In his lone course the Shepherd oft will pause, 
And strive to fathom the mysterious laws 

1 See " Excursion," seventh part; and "Ecclesiastical Sketches," second 
part, near the beginning. 

151-3 Albeit upheld by milder energies 

Than hers who cleared her way thro' stormy seas 

By might of Faith. God prosper thee, St. Bees MS. 2 
158-9 Elate with [?] and mechanic skill 

She ponders not the laws of Soul and Will MS. 2 
156-9 Would merge, Idolatress of formal skill, 

In her own systems God's Eternal Will. 

To her despising faith in things unseen 

Matter and Spirit are as one Machine. MS. Letter 1844 and 
158-9 She sinks, Idolatress of formal skill, 

In her own systems God's eternal will. MS. Letter 1842 
159/60 Expert to move in paths that Newton trod, 

From Newton's Universe would banish God MS. 2, 1835 


By which the clouds, arrayed in light or gloom, 

On Mona settle, and the shapes assume 5 

Of all her peaks and ridges. What he draws 

From sense, faith, reason, fancy, of the cause, 

He will take with him to the silent tomb. 

Or by his fire, a child upon his knee, 

Haply the untaught Philosopher may speak 10 

Of the strange sight, nor hide his theory 

That satisfies the simple and the meek, 

Blest in their pious ignorance, though weak 

To cope with Sages undevoutly free. 



BOLD words affirmed, in days when faith was strong 

And doubts and scruples seldom teased the brain, 

That no adventurer's bark had power to gain 

These shores if he approached them bent on wrong ; 

For, suddenly up-conjured from the Main, 5 

Mists rose to hide the Land that search, though long 

And eager, might be still pursued in vain. 

O Fancy, what an age was that for song ! 

That age, when not by laws inanimate, 

As men believed, the waters were impelled, 10 

The air controlled, the stars their courses held ; 

But element and orb on acts did wait 

Of Powers endued with visible form, instinct 

With will, and to their work by passion linked. 


DESIRE we past illusions to recal ? 

To reinstate wild Fancy, would we hide 

Truths whose thick veil Science has drawn aside ? 

No, -let this Age, high as she may, instal 

In her esteem the thirst that wrought man's fall, 5 

The universe is infinitely wide ; 

And conquering Reason, if self-glorified, 

Can nowhere move uncrossed by some new wall 

XII. 9-10 Or haply with . . . That rude MS. 13 How blest is MS. 
14 Sages] science MS. 

XIII. 2 not in MS., 1835 


Or gulf of mystery, which them alone, 

Imaginative Faith! canst overleap, 10 

In progress toward the fount of Love, the throne 

Of Power whose ministers the records keep 

Of periods fixed, and laws established, less 

Flesh to exalt than prove its nothingness. 


"Dignum laude virum Musa vetat mori." 

THE feudal Keep, the bastions of Cohorn, 

Even when they rose to check or to repel 

Tides of aggressive war, oft served as well 

Greedy ambition, armed to treat with scorn 

Just limits ; but yon Tower, whose smiles adorn 5 

This perilous bay, stands clear of all offence ; 

Blest work it is of love and innocence, 

A Tower of refuge built for the else forlorn. 

Spare it, ye waves, and lift the mariner, t 

Struggling for life, into its saving arms! 10 

Spare, too, the human helpers ! Do they stir 

'Mid your fierce shock like men afraid to die ? 

No ; their dread service nerves the heart it warms, 

And they are led by noble HILLARY. l 



WHY stand we gazing on the sparkling Brine, 
With wonder smit by its transparency, 
And all-enraptured with its purity ? 
Because the unstained, the clear, the crystalline, 
Have ever in them something of benign ; 5 

Whether in gem, in water, or in sky, 
A sleeping infant's brow, or wakeful eye 
Of a young maiden, only not divine. 
1 See Note. 

XIV. 12 ao 1837: Of Power, whose ministering Spirits records keep 1836 

XV. 1-2 The Citadels of Vauban and Cohorn 

Even when they rose with purpose MS. 

4 Dark projects of Ambition, proud to scorn MS. 8 built for 1845: 

to MS.. 1836-43 


Scarcely the hand forbears to dip its palm 

For beverage drawn as from a mountain- well. 10 

Temptation centres in the liquid Calm ; 

Our daily raiment seems no obstacle 

To instantaneous plunging in, deep Sea ! 

And revelling in long embrace with thee. 1 



A YOUTH too certain of his power to wade 

On the smooth bottom of this clear bright sea, 

To sight so shallow, with a bather's glee, 

Leapt from this rock, and but for timely aid 

He, by the alluring element betrayed, 5 

Had perished. Then might Sea-nymphs (and with sighs 

Of self-reproach) have chanted elegies 

Bewailing his sad fate, when he was laid 

In peaceful earth : for, doubtless, he was frank, 

Utterly in himself devoid of guile ; 10 

Knew not the double-dealing of a smile ; 

Nor aught that makes men's promises a blank, 

Or deadly snare : and He survives to bless 

The Power that saved him in his strange distress. 



DID pangs of grief for lenient time too keen, 
Grief that devouring waves had caused or guilt 
Which they had witnessed, sway the man who built 
This Homestead, placed where nothing could be seen, 
Nought heard, of ocean troubled or serene ? 5 

1 The sea-water on the coast of the Isle of Man is singularly pure and 

XVI. 14 revelling] wantoning MS. 

XVII. 4r-8 so 1837: 

. . . and surely, had not aid 

Been near, must soon have breathed out life, betrayed 
By fondly trusting to an element 
Fair, and to others more than innocent ; 
Then had sea-nymphs sung dirges for him laid MS., 1835 
5 He] Here C 


1835 1 Did 1837: Not MS., 1835 2 or 1837: nor MS., 1835 

3 isway 1837: swayed MS., 1835 5 serene. MS., 1835 

917.17 IV D 


A tired Ship-soldier on paternal land, 

That o'er the channel holds august command. 

The dwelling raised, a veteran Marine. 

He, in disgust, turned from the neighbouring sea 

To shun the memory of a listless life 10 

That hung between two callings. May no strife 

More hurtful here beset him, doomed though free, 

Self-doomed, to worse inaction, till his eye 

Shrink from the daily sight of earth and sky ! 


(A Friend of the Author.) 

FROM early youth I ploughed the restless Main, 
My mind as restless and as apt to change ; 
Through every clime and ocean did I range, 
In hope at length a competence to gain ; 
For poor to Sea I went, and poor I still remain. 5 

Year after year I strove, but strove in vain, 
And hardships manifold did I endure, * 

For Fortune on me never deign J d to smile ; 
Yet I at last a resting-place have found, 
With just enough life's comforts to procure, 10 

In a snug Cove on this our favoured Isle, 
A peaceful spot where Nature's gifts abound ; 
Then sure I have no reason to complain, 
Though poor to Sea I went, and poor I still remain. 


(Supposed to be written by a Friend.) 
BROKEN in fortune, but in mind entire 
And sound in principle, I seek repose 
Where ancient trees this convent-pile enclose, 1 
In ruin beautiful. When vain desire 
1 Rushen Abbey. 

6 A tired MS., 1835, 1845: No, a 1837-43 
8-10 Fantastic slave of spleen 

He sought by shunning thus the neighbouring sea 

Refuge from memory K 
9 He 1845: Who . . . 1835-43: The weary Man C 

XIX. 12 Where all the requisites of life abound MS. 

XX. 1 in mind] of mind MS. 


Intrudes on peace, I pray the eternal Sire 5 

To cast a soul-subduing shade on me, 

A grey-haired, pensive, thankful Refugee ; 

A shade but with some sparks of heavenly fire 

Once to these cells vouchsafed. And when I note 

The old Tower's brow yellowed as with the beams 10 

Of sunset ever there, albeit streams 

Of stormy weather-stains that semblance wrought, 

I thank the silent Monitor, and say 

' 'Shine so, my aged brow, at all hours of the day!" 



ONCE on the top of TynwakTs formal mound 

(Still marked with green turf circles narrowing 

Stage above stage) would sit this Island's King, 

The laws to promulgate, enrobed and crowned ; 

While, compassing the little mound around, 5 

Degrees and Orders stood, each under each : 

Now, like to things within fate's easiest reach, 

The power is merged, the pomp a grave has found. 

Off with yon cloud, old Snafell ! that thine eye 

Over three Realms may take its widest range ; 10 

And let, for them, thy fountains utter strange 

Voices, thy winds break forth in prophecy, 

If the whole State must suffer mortal change, 

Like Mona's miniature of sovereignty. 


' DESPOND who will / heard a voice exclaim, 
"Though fierce the assault, and shatter 'd the defence, 
It cannot be that Britain's social frame, 
The glorious work of time and providence, 

8-9 Such sparks of holy fire 

As once were cherished here MS. 
1 1 albeit] and know that K 

XXI. 1-3 Time was when on the top of yon small mound 

(Still marked with circles duly narrowing 

Each above each) K 

4 Sate 'mid the assembled people (Would sit by solemn usage) robed and 
crowned K 5 little] grassy K 9 yon cloud] those clouds K 

XXII. 1 Clear voices from pure worlds of hope exclaim MS. 


Before a flying season's rash pretence 5 

Should fall ; that She, whose virtue put to shame, 
When Europe prostrate lay, the Conqueror's aim, 
Should perish, self-subverted. Black and dense 
The cloud is ; but brings that a day of doom 
To Liberty ? Her sun is up the while, 10 

That orb whose beams round Saxon Alfred shone : 
Then laugh, ye innocent Vales ! ye Streams, sweep on, 
Nor let one billow of our heaven- blest Isle 
Toss in the fanning wind a humbler plume." 


(During an Eclipse of the Sun, July 17.) 
SINCE risen from ocean, ocean to defy, 
Appeared the Crag of Ailsa, ne'er did morn 
With gleaming lights more gracefully adorn 
His sides, or wreathe with mist his forehead high : 
Now, faintly darkening with the sun's eclipse, ,5 

Still is he seen, in lone sublimity, 
Towering above the sea and little ships ; 
For dwarfs the tallest seem while sailing by, 
Each for her haven ; with her freight of Care, 
Pleasure, or Grief, and Toil that seldom looks 10 

Into the secret of to-morrow's fare ; 
Though poor, yet rich, without the wealth of books, 
Or aught that watchful Love to Nature owes 
For her mute Powers, fix'd Forms, or transient Shows. 



(In a Steamboat.) 

ARRAN ! a single-crested TenerifFe, 
A St. Helena next in shape and hue, 
Varying her crowded peaks and ridges blue ; 
Who but must covet a cloud-seat, or skiff 
Built for the air, or wingfed Hippogriff ? 5 

6 Before a season's calculating sense MS. 10 Her] The corr. to Our 

MS. 13 our] this MS. 

XXIII. IN THE FRITH etc. 1835 Ailsa Crag, between 5 o'clock and 6 in the 
morning of the seventh of July, an eclipse of the Sun commencing MS. 
14 or 1837: and 1835 


That he might fly, where no one could pursue, 

From this dull Monster and her sooty crew ; 

And, as a God, light on thy topmost cliff. 

Impotent wish ! which reason would despise 

If the mind knew no union of extremes, 10 

No natural bond between the boldest schemes 

Ambition frames and heart-humilities. 

Beneath stern mountains many a soft vale lies, 

And lofty springs give birth to lowly streams. 


[See former Series, Vol. iii, p. 268.] 
THE captive Bird was gone ; to cliff or moor 
Perchance had flown, delivered by the storm ; 
Or he had pined, and sunk to feed the worm: 
Him found we not : but, climbing a tall tower, 
There saw, impaved with rude fidelity 5 

Of art mosaic, in a roofless floor, 
An Eagle with stretched wings, but beamless eye 
An Eagle that could neither wail nor soar. 
Effigy of the Vanished (shall I dare 

To call thee so ?) or symbol of fierce deeds 10 

And of the towering courage which past times 
Rejoiced in take, whate'er thou be, a share, 
Not undeserved, of the memorial rhymes 
That animate my way where'er it leads ! 



NOT to the clouds, not to the cliff, he flew ; 
But when a storm, on sea or mountain bred, 
Came and delivered him, alone he sped 
Into the castle-dungeon's darkest mew. 

XXIV. 8 as 1837: like 1835 

XXV. 5-6 Espied in rude mosaic effigy 

Set in a roofless Chamber's pavement floor MS. 

9 so 1837: Effigies of the Vanished 1835: Shade of the poor Departed 
10-12 so 1837: 

. . . past times, 

That towering courage, and the savage deeds 
Those times were proud of, take Thou for a share, 1835 


Now, near his master's house in open view 5 

He dwells, and hears indignant tempests howl, 

Kennelled and chained. Ye tame domestic fowl, 

Beware of him ! Thou, saucy cockatoo, 

Look to thy plumage and thy life ! The roe, 

Fleet as the west wind, is for him no quarry ; 10 

Balanced in ether he will never tarry, 

Eyeing the sea's blue depths. Poor Bird! even so 

Doth man of brother man a creature make 

That clings to slavery for its own sad sake. 


[Composed 1824. Published 1827.] 

OFT have I caught, upon a fitful breeze, 

Fragments of far-off melodies, 

With ear not coveting the whole, 

A part so charmed the pensive soul : 

While a dark storm before my sight 5 

Was yielding, on a mountain height 

Loose vapours have I watched, that won 

Prismatic colours from the sun ; 

Nor felt a wish that heaven would show 

The image of its perfect bow. 10 

What need, then, of these finished Strains ? 

Away with counterfeit Remains ! 

An abbey in its lone recess, 

A temple of the wilderness, 

Wrecks though they be, announce with feeling 15 

The majesty of honest dealing. 

Spirit of Ossian ! if imbound 

In language thou may'st yet be found, 

If aught (intrusted to the pen 

Or floating on the tongues of men, 20 

Albeit shattered and impaired) 

Subsist thy dignity to guard, 

In concert with memorial claim 

Of old grey stone, and high-born name 

That cleaves to rock or pillared cave 25 

XXVI. 7 domestic] villatic MS. 

XXVII. 1 upon a 1832: from 1827 


Where moans the blast, or beats the wave, 

Let Truth, stern arbitress of all, 

Interpret that Original, 

And for presumptuous wrongs atone ; 

Authentic words be given, or none ! 30 

Time is not blind ; yet He, who spares 

Pyramid pointing to the stars, 

Hath preyed with ruthless appetite 

On all that marked the primal flight 

Of the poetic ecstasy 35 

Into the land of mystery. 

No tongue is able to rehearse 

One measure, Orpheus ! of thy verse ; 

Musaeus, stationed with his lyre 

Supreme among the Elysian quire, 40 

Is, for the dwellers upon earth, 

Mute as a lark ere morning's birth. 

Why grieve for these, though past away 

The music, and extinct the lay ? 

When thousands, by severer doom, 45 

Full early to the silent tomb 

Have sunk, at Nature's call ; or strayed 

From hope and promise, self- betrayed ; 

The garland withering on their brows ; 

Stung with remorse for broken vows ; 50 

Frantic else how might they rejoice ? 

And friendless, by their own sad choice ! 

Hail, Bards of mightier grasp ! on you 

I chiefly call, the chosen Few, 

Who cast not off the acknowledged guide, 55 

Who faltered not, nor turned aside ; 

Whose lofty genius could survive 

Privation, under sorrow thrive ; 

In whom the fiery Muse revered 

The symbol of a snow-white beard, 60 

Bedewed with meditative tears 

Dropped from the lenient cloud of years. 

Brothers in soul! though distant times 

Produced you nursed in various climes, 

Ye, when the orb of life had waned, 65 

A plenitude of love retained : 


Hence, while in you each sad regret 

By corresponding hope was met, 

Ye lingered among human kind, 

Sweet voices for the passing wind ; 70 

Departing sunbeams, loth to stop, 

Though smiling on the last hill-top ! 

Such to the tender-hearted maid 

Even ere her joys begin to fade ; 

Such, haply, to the rugged chief 75 

By fortune crushed, or tamed by grief; 

Appears, on Morven's lonely shore, 

Dim-gleaming through imperfect lore, 

The Son of Fingal ; such was blind 

Maeonides of ampler mind ; 80 

Such Milton, to the fountain-head 

Of glory by Urania led ! 



WE SAW, but surely, in the motley crowd, 

Not One of us has felt the far-famed sight ; 

How could we feel it ? each the other's blight, 

Hurried and hurrying, volatile and loud. 

for those motions only that invite 5 

The Ghost of Fingal to his tuneful Cave 

By the breeze entered, and wave after wave 

Softly embosoming the timid light ! 

And by one Votary who at will might stand 

Gazing and take into his mind and heart, 10 

With undistracted reverence, the effect 

Of those proportions where the almighty hand 

That made tlje worlds, the sovereign Architect, 

Has deigned to work as if with human Art ! 


(After the Crowd had departed.) 
THANKS for the lessons of this Spot fit school 
For the presumptuous thoughts that would assign 
Mechanic laws to agency divine ; 

XXVIII. 2 felt MS., 1835 

XXIX. After the crowd etc. 1845: not in 1835-43 


And, measuring heaven by earth, would overrule 

Infinite Power. The pillared vestibule, 5 

Expanding yet precise, the roof embowed, 

Might seem designed to humble man, when proud 

Of his best workmanship by plan and tool. 

Down-bearing with his whole Atlantic weight 

Of tide and tempest on the Structure's base, 10 

And flashing to that Structure's topmost height, 

Ocean has proved its strength, and of its grace 

In calms is conscious, finding for his freight 

Of softest music some responsive place. 



YE shadowy Beings, that have rights and claims 

In every cell of Fingal's mystic Grot, 

Where are ye ? Driven or venturing to the spot, 

Our fathers glimpses caught of your thin Frames, 

And, by your mien and bearing, knew your names ; 5 

And they could hear his ghostly song who trod 

Earth, till the flesh lay on him like a load, 

While he struck his desolate harp without hopes or aims. 

Vanished ye are, but subject to recal ; 

Why keep we else the instincts whose dread law 10 

Ruled here of yore, till what men felt they saw, 

Not by black arts but magic natural ! 

If eyes be still sworn vassals of belief, 

Yon light shapes forth a Bard, that shade a Chief. 



HOPE smiled when your nativity was cast, 

Children of Summer ! Ye fresh Flowers that brave 

What Summer here escapes not, the fierce wave, 

And whole artillery of the western blast, 

Battering the Temple's front, its long-drawn nave 5 

Smiting, as if each moment were their last. 

But ye, bright Flowers, on frieze and architrave 

11 so 1837: flashing upwards to its MS., 1835 
XXX. 11 saw MS., 1835 


Survive, and once again the Pile stands fast : 

Calm as the Universe, from specular towers 

Of heaven contemplated by Spirits pure 10 

With mute astonishment, it stands sustained 

Through every part in symmetry, to endure, 

Unhurt, the assault of Time with all his hours, 

As the supreme Artificer ordained. 



ON to lona ! What can she afford 

To us save matter for a thoughtful sigh, 

Heaved over ruin with stability 

In urgent contrast ? To diffuse the WORD 

(Thy Paramount, mighty Nature! and Time's Lord) 5 

Her Temples rose, 'mid pagan gloom ; but why, 

Even for a moment, has our verse deplored 

Their wrongs, since they fulfilled their destiny ? 

And when, subjected to a common doom 

Of mutability, those far-famed Piles 10 

Shall disappear from both the sister Isles, 

lona's Saints, forgetting not past days, 

Garlands shall wear of amaranthine bloom, 

While heaven's vast sea of voices chants their praise. 



(Upon Landing.) 

How sad a welcome ! To each voyager 
Some ragged child holds up for sale a store 
Of wave-worn pebbles, pleading on the shore 
Where once came monk and nun with gentle stir, 

XXXI. 11-12 so 1840: 

Suns and their systems, diverse yet sustained 
In symmetry, and fashioned to endure, MS., 1835-8 
13 the worst assaults of hostile Powers C 14 Artificer] Geometer MS. 

XXXII. 9-1 1 And when the wonders of the Sister Isles 

Shall disappear, sharing the common doom, 
To the last remnant of the several Piles MS. 

XXXIII. 1-3 so 1837: With earnest look, to every voyager etc. as text (but 
his for a in I. 2) 1835 

With outstretched hands, round every voyager 

Press ragged children, each to supplicate 

A price for wave -worn pebbles on his plate, MS. 


Blessings to give, news ask, or suit prefer. 5 

Yet is yon neat trim church a grateful speck 

Of novelty amid the sacred wreck 

Strewn far and wide. Think, proud Philosopher! 

Fallen though she be, this Glory of the west, 

Still on her sons the beams of mercy shine ; 10 

And ' 'hopes, perhaps more heavenly bright than thine, 

A grace by thee unsought and unpossest, 

A faith more fixed, a rapture more divine 

Shall gild their passage to eternal rest." 


[See Martin's Voyage among the Western Isles.] 
HEBE on their knees men swore : the stones were black, 
Black in the people's minds and words, yet they 
Were at that time, as now, in colour grey. 
But what is colour, if upon the rack 

Of conscience souls are placed by deeds that lack 5 

Concord with oaths ? What differ night and day 
Then, when before the Perjured on his way 
Hell opens, and the heavens in vengeance crack 
Above his head uplifted in vain prayer 
To Saint, or Fiend, or to the Godhead whom 10 

He had insulted Peasant, King, or Thane ? 
Fly where the culprit may, guilt meets a doom ; 
And, from invisible worlds at need laid bare, 
Come links for social order's awful chain. 


HOMEWARD we turn. Isle of Columba's Cell, 

Where Christian piety's soul-cheering spark 

(Kindled from Heaven between the light and dark 

Of time) shone like the morning-star, farewell ! 

And fare thee well, to Fancy visible, 5 

Remote St. Kilda, lone and loved sea-mark 

6 Yet is 1837: But see MS., 1835 7 the 1837: this MS., 1835 8 so 
1837: Nay spare thy scorn, haughty MS., 1835 
XXXV. 5-6 so 1837: 

Remote St. Kilda, art thou visible ? 

No but farewell to thee, beloved sea-mark 1836 


For many a voyage made in her swift bark, 

When with more hues than in the rainbow dwell 

Thou a mysterious intercourse dost hold, 

Extracting from clear skies and air serene, 10 

And out of sun- bright waves, a lucid veil, 

That thickens, spreads, and, mingling fold with fold, 

Makes known, when thou no longer canst be seen, 

Thy whereabout, to warn the approaching sail. 



Per me si va nella Citta dolente. 
WE have not passed into a doleful City, 
We who were led to-day down a grim dell, 
By some too boldly named "the Jaws of Hell:" 
Where be the wretched ones, the sights for pity ? 
These crowded streets resound no plaintive ditty : 5 

As from the hive where bees in summer dwell, 
Sorrow seems here excluded ; and that knell, 
It neither damps the gay, nor checks the witty. 
Alas ! too busy Rival of old Tyre, 

Whose merchants Princes were, whose decks were thrones ;io 
Soon may the punctual sea in vain respire 
To serve thy need, in union with that Clyde 
Whose nursling current brawls o'er mossy stones, 
The poor, the lonely, herdsman's joy and pride. 


"THERE!" said a Stripling, pointing with meet pride 
Towards a low roof with green trees half concealed, 
"Is Mosgiel Farm ; and that's the very field 
Where Burns ploughed up the Daisy." Far and wide 
A plain below stretched seaward, while, descried 5 

5-10 Adieu, remote St. Kilda, visible 

To Fancy only, a beloved sea-mark 
For many etc. as text 

Adieu to thee, and all that with thee dwell 
Simplest of humankind. Fair to behold 
Thou art, extracting from clear skies serene MS. 
7 her swift 1837: Fancy's 1835 

12 That spreads, and intermingling MS. 14 to guide the passing 

sail MS. 

XXXVI. 9 so 1837: Too busy Mart! thus fared it with old Tyre MS., 1835 

XXXVII. MS. gives the title Burns' Daisy 


Above sea-clouds, the Peaks of Arran rose ; 

And, by that simple notice, the repose 

Of earth, sky, sea, and air, was vivified. 

Beneath "the random bield of clod or stone" 

Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower 10 

Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour 

Have passed away ; less happy than the One 

That, by the unwilling ploughshare, died to prove 

The tender charm of poetry and love. 



EDEN ! till now thy beauty had I viewed 

By glimpses only, and confess with shame 

That verse of mine, whatever its varying mood, 

Repeats but once the sound of thy sweet name : 

Yet fetched from Paradise that honour came, 5 

Rightfully borne ; for Nature gives thee flowers 

That have no rivals among British bowers ; 

And thy bold rocks are worthy of their fame. 

Measuring thy course, fair Stream ! at length I pay 

To my life's neighbour dues of neighbourhood ; 10 

But I have traced thee on thy winding way 

With pleasure sometimes by this thought restrained 

For things far off we toil, while many a good 

Not sought, because too near, is never gained. 



(by Nollekens), 
In Wetheral Church, near Corby, on the banks of the Eden. 

STRETCHED on the dying Mother's lap, lies dead 

Her new-born Babe ; dire ending of bright hope ! 

But Sculpture here, with the divinest scope 

Of luminous faith, heavenward hath raised that head 

So patiently ; and through one hand has spread 5 

A touch so tender for the insensate Child 

(Earth's lingering love to parting reconciled, 

XXXVIII. 13 so 1845 : That things far off are toiled for, while a good MS., 
1835-8: That for things etc. as text 1840-3 14 never 1840: seldom 
MS., 1835-8 

XXXIX. 2 ending 1845: issue MS., 1835-43 3-4 with so divine a 
scope Embodies truth, MS. 


Brief parting, for the spirit is all but fled) 

That we, who contemplate the turns of life 

Through this still medium, are consoled and cheered ; 10 

Feel with the Mother, think the severed Wife 

Is less to be lamented than revered ; 

And own that Art, triumphant over strife 

And pain, hath powers to Eternity endeared. 



TRANQUILLITY ! the sovereign aim wert thou 

In heathen schools of philosophic lore ; 

Heart-stricken by stern destiny of yore 

The Tragic Muse thee served with thoughtful vow ; 

And what of hope Elysium could allow 5 

Was fondly seized by Sculpture, to restore 

Peace to the Mourner. But when He who wore 

The crown of thorns around his bleeding brow 

Warmed our sad being with celestial light, 

Then Arts, which still had drawn a softening grace 10 

From shadowy fountains of the Infinite, 

Communed with that Idea face to face : 

And move around it now as planets run, 

Each in its orbit round the central Sun. 



THE floods are roused, and will not soon be weary ; 
Down from the Pennine Alps 1 how fiercely sweeps 
CROGLIN, the stately Eden's tributary! 
1 The chain of Crossfell. 

10 consoled] inspired MS. 

XL. No title in 1835 1 the sovereign] prime end and corr. to the para- 
mount MS. 3 In quest of thee did Science dive and soar MS. 
56 And Sculpture fondly laboured to endow (strove to re -endow) 

Man with lost rights and honour to restore MS. 

7 so 1838: Peace to the Mourner's [his troubled MS.] soul, but He who 
wore 1835-7 
8-9 so 1840: 

The crown of thorns had from a bleeding brow 

Through our sad being shed his glorious light 1838; 1835-7 as text 
but his glorious for celestial. 9 Brought doubted Immortality to light 
corr. to Poured thro * the mists of being ( bewildering mists a ) glorious light MS . 
12-13 Were urged and found to move with steadier pace 
Along their courses as the etc. MS. 


He raves, or through some moody passage creeps 

Plotting new mischief out again he leaps 5 

Into broad light, and sends, through regions airy, 

That voice which soothed the Nuns while on the steeps 

They knelt in prayer, or sang to blissful Mary. 

That union ceased: then, cleaving easy walks 

Through crags, and smoothing paths beset with danger, 10 

Came studious Taste ; and many a pensive stranger 

Dreams on the banks, and to the river talks. 

What change shall happen next to Nunnery Dell ? 

Canal, and Viaduct, and Railway, tell ! 



MOTIONS and Means, on land and sea at war 

With old poetic feeling, not for this, 

Shall ye, by Poets even, be judged amiss! 

Nor shall your presence, howsoe'er it mar 

The loveliness of Nature, prove a bar 5 

To the Mind's gaining that prophetic sense 

Of future change, that point of vision, whence 

May be discovered what in soul ye are. 

In spite of all that beauty may disown 

In your harsh features, Nature doth embrace 10 

Her lawful offspring in Man's art ; and Time, 

Pleased with your triumphs o'er his brother Space, 

Accepts from your bold hands the proffered crown 

Of hope, and smiles on you with cheer sublime. 



[Composed 1821. Published 1822; ed. 1827.] 
A WEIGHT of awe, not easy to be borne, 
Fell suddenly upon my Spirit cast 
From the dread bosom of the unknown past, 

XLI. 6-8 Seeking in vain broad light, and regions airy 

But with that voice which once high on the steeps 
Mingled with vespers, sung to blissful Mary MS. 
XLIII. 1 awe] woe MS. corr. easy] easily MS. 

2-7 Hath sometimes fallen on my bosom cast 

corr. to 
And loth to be removed is sometimes cast 


When first I saw that family forlorn. 

Speak Thou, whose massy strength and stature scorn 5 

The power of years pre-eminent, and placed 

Apart, to overlook the circle vast 

Speak, Giant-mother ! tell it to the Morn 

While she dispels the cumbrous shades of Night ; 

Let the Moon hear, emerging from a cloud ; 10 

At whose behest uprose on British ground 

That Sisterhood, in hieroglyphic round 

Forth-shadowing, some have deemed, the infinite 

The inviolable God, that tames the proud I 1 



LOWTHBR! in thy majestic Pile are seen 
Cathedral pomp and grace, in apt accord 
With the baronial castle's sterner mien ; 
Union significant of God adored, 

And charters won and guarded by the sword 5 

Of ancient honour ; whence that goodly state 
Of polity which wise men venerate, 
And will maintain, if God his help afford. 
Hourly the democratic torrent swells ; 
1 See Note. 

Upon my bosom from the unknown past 
When I beheld that sisterhood forlorn 
With [And] Her sole standing among yellow corn 
In fearless height preeminent and placed 
As if to overlook the circle vast MSS. 

4 family 1837: Sisterhood 1822-32 5 Speak Thou 1837: And Her 

1827-32 And Her whos,e strength and stature seem to scorn 1822 8 
Speak giant mother to the dawning morn MS. 1 
9-11 Let the moon hear, emerging from a cloud 
The truth disclosed to guide our steps aright 

Or be at least the mystery unbound MS. 1, MS. 2 as text but Lll The 
truths disclosed, the mystery unbound 

11-13 so 1837; so 1827-32, but L 12 Thy progeny for That Sisterhood; 
When, how, and wherefore, rose on British ground 
That wondrous Monument, whose mystic round 
Forth shadows, some have deemed, to mortal sight 1822 
XLIV. No title in 1835; Lowther Castle MS. 
1-2 in thy magnificence are seen 

Shapes of cathedral pomp that well accord MS. 
9 Hourly]* But high^ MS. 


For airy promises and hopes suborned 10 

The strength of backward-looking thoughts is scorned. 
Fall if ye must, ye Towers and Pinnacles, 
With what ye symbolise ; authentic Story 
Will say, Ye disappeared with England's Glory ! 


"Magistratus indicat virum." 
LONSDALE ! it were unworthy of a Guest, 
Whose heart with gratitude to thee inclines, 
If he should speak, by fancy touched, of signs 
On thy Abode harmoniously imprest, 
Yet be unmoved with wishes to attest 5 

How in thy mind and moral frame agree 
Fortitude, and that Christian Charity 
Which, filling, consecrates the human breast. 
And if the Motto on thy 'scutcheon teach 
That searching test thy public course has stood ; 
As will be owned alike by bad and good, 
Soon as the measuring of life's little span 
Shall place thy virtues out of Envy's reach. 1 


[Composed 1828?. Published 1835.] 
LIST, ye who pass by Lyulph's Tower 2 

At eve ; how softly then 
Doth Aira-force, that torrent hoarse, 

Speak from the woody glen ! 

1 See Note. 

2 A pleasure -house built by the late Duke of Norfolk upon the banks of 
Ullswater. FOBCE is the word used in the Lake District for Waterfall. 

XLV. 27 One chiefly well aware how much he owes 

To thy regard, to speak in verse or prose 

Of types and signs harmoniously imprest 

On thy Abode, neglecting to attest 

That in thy Mansion's Lord as well agree 

Meekness and strength and Christian charity MS. 
9-11 And if, as thy armorial bearings teach, 

"The Magistracy indicates the Man,*' 

That test thy life triumphantly has stood ; MS. 

XL VI. 1 'Tis sweet to stand by MSS. 4 Speak] Sound MSS. 

917.17 IV E 


Fit music for a solemn vale ! 

And holier seems the ground 
To him who catches on the gale 
The spirit of a mournful tale. 

Embodied in the sound. 

Not far from that fair site whereon 10 

The Pleasure-house is reared, 
As story says, in antique days 

A stern-brow'd house appeared ; 
Foil to a Jewel rich in light 

There set, and guarded well ; 15 

Cage for a Bird of plumage bright, 
Sweet- voiced, nor wishing for a flight 

Beyond her native dell. 

To win this bright Bird from her cage, 

To make this Gem their own, 20 

Came Barons bold, with store of gold, 

And Knights of high renown ; 
But one She prized, and only one ; 

Sir Eglamore was he ; 

Full happy season, when was known, 25 

Ye Dales and Hills ! to you alone 

Their mutual loyalty 

Known chiefly, Aira ! to thy glen, 

Thy brook, and bowers of holly ; 
Where Passion caught what Nature taught, 30 

That all but love is folly ; 
Where Fact with Fancy stooped to play ; 

Doubt came not, nor regret 
To trouble hours that winged their way, 
As if through "an immortal day 35 

Whose sun could never set. 

But in old times Love dwelt not long 

Sequester'd with repose ; 
Best throve the fire of chaste desire, 

57 To rudest shepherd of the vale 

The spot seems fairy ground ; 

For he can catch upon the gale MSS. 

8 a mournful] an ancient MSS. 19 bright] sweet MSS. 26 Dales] 
streams MSS. 27 Their true love's sanctity MS. 28-36 not 

in MSS. 37 old times] that age MSS. 


Fanned by the breath of foes. 40 

"A conquering lance is beauty's test, 

And proves the Lover true ;" 
So spake Sir Eglamore, and pressed 
The drooping Emma to his breast, 

And looked a blind adieu. 45 

They parted. Well with him it fared 

Through wide-spread regions errant ; 
A knight of proof in love's behoof, 

The thirst of fame his warrant : 
And She her happiness can build 50 

On woman's quiet hours ; 

Though faint, compared with spear and shield, 
The solace beads and masses yield, 

And needlework and flowers. 

Yet blest was Emma when she heard 55 

Her Champion's praise recounted ; 
Though brain would swim, and eyes grow dim, 

And high her blushes mounted ; 
Or when a bold heroic lay 

She warbled from full heart ; 60 

Delightful blossoms for the May 
Of absence ! but they will not stay, 

Born only to depart. 

Hope wanes with her, while lustre fills 

Whatever path he chooses ; 65 

As if his orb, that owns no curb, 

Received the light hers loses. 
He comes not back ; an ampler space 

Requires for nobler deeds ; 

He ranges on from place to place, 70 

Till of his doings is no trace, 

But what her fancy breeds. 

His fame may spread, but in the past 

Her spirit finds its centre ; 
Clear sight She has of what he was, 75 

And that would now content her. 

40 When fanned by MSS. 57 brain . . . eyes] her brain . . . her eyee 



"Still is he my devoted Knight ?" 

The tear in answer flows ; 
Month falls on month with heavier weight ; 
Day sickens round her, and the night 80 

Is empty of repose. 

In sleep She sometimes walked abroad, 

Deep sighs with quick words blending, 
Like that pale Queen whose hands are seen 

With fancied spots contending ; 85 

But she is innocent of blood, 

The moon is not more pure 
That shines aloft, while through the wood 
She thrids her way, the sounding Flood 

Her melancholy lure ! 90 

While 'mid the fern-brake sleeps the doe, 

And owls alone are waking, 
In white arrayed, glides on the Maid 

The downward pathway taking, 
That leads her to the torrent's side 95 

And to a holly bower ; 
By whom on this still night descried ? 
By whom in that lone place espied ? 

By thee, Sir Eglamore ! 

A wandering Ghost, so thinks the Knight, 100 

His coming step has thwarted, 
Beneath the. boughs that heard their vows. 

Within whose shade they parted. 
Hush, hush, the busy Sleeper see ! 

Perplexed her fingers seem, 105 

As if they from the holly tree 
Green twigs would pluck, as rapidly 

Flung from her to the stream. 

What means the Spectre ? Why intent 

To violate the Tree, no 

77-8 "No more, perchance, my own true Knight 

He is" that phantom grows ; MSS. 

82 In troubled sleep she walked MSS. 95-6 Nor stopped till near 

. . . She reached MSS. 99 By thee] The Knight MSS. 

102-3 On ground that heard their plighted vows, 
The ground on which MSS. 


Thought Eglainore, by which I swore 

Unfading constancy ? 
Here am I, and to-morrow's sun, 

To her I left, shall prove 

That bliss is ne'er so surely won 115 

As when a circuit has been run 

Of valour, truth, and love. 

So from the spot whereon he stood, 

He moved with stealthy pace ; 
And, drawing nigh, with his living eye, 120 

He recognised the face ; 
And whispers caught, and speeches small, 

Some to the green-leaved tree, 
Some muttered to the torrent-fall ; 
"Roar on, and bring him with thy call ; 125 

I heard, and so may He!" 

Soul-shattered was the Knight, nor knew 

If Emma's Ghost it were, 
Or boding Shade, or if the Maid 

Her very self stood there. 130 

He touched ; what followed who shall tell ? 

The soft touch snapped the thread 
Of slumber shrieking back she fell, 
And the Stream whirled her down the dell 

Along its foaming bed. 135 

In plunged the Knight ! when on firm ground 

The rescued Maiden lay, 
Her eyes grew bright with blissful light, 

Confusion passed away ; 
She heard, ere to the throne of grace 140 

Her faithful Spirit flew, 
His voice beheld his speaking face ; 
And, dying, from his own embrace, 

She felt that he was true. 

So was he reconciled to life : 145 

Brief words may speak the rest ; 

122 caught] heard MSS. 

129-30 Or if the Maid by sleep betrayed 

In very life stood there. MSS. 
1 3646 In plunged the Knight ! he strove in vain 

Brief words etc. MSS. 


Within the dell he built a cell, 

And there was Sorrow's guest ; 
In hermits' weeds repose he found, 

From vain temptations free ; 150 

Beside the torrent dwelling bound 
By one deep heart- controlling sound, 

And awed to piety. 

Wild stream of Aira, hold thy course, 

Nor fear memorial lays, 155 

Where clouds that spread in solemn shade, 

Are edged with golden rays ! 
Dear art thou to the light of heaven, 

Though minister of sorrow ; 

Sweet is thy voice at pensive even ; 160 

And thou, in lovers' hearts forgiven, 

Shalt take thy place with Yarrow ! 



Hallsteads, Ullswater. 

NOT in the mines beyond the western main, 
You say, Cordelia, was the metal sought, 
Which a fine skill, of Indian growth, has wrought 
Into this flexible yet faithful Chain ; 

Nor is it silver of romantic Spain ; 5 

But from our loved Helvellyn's depths was brought, 
Our own domestic mountain. Thing and thought 
Mix strangely ; trifles light, and partly vain, 
Can prop, as you have learnt, our nobler being : 
Yes, Lady, while about your neck is wound 10 

(Your casual glance oft meeting) this bright cord, 
What witchery, for pure gifts of inward seeing, 
Lurks in it, Memory's Helper, Fancy's Lord, 
For precious tremblings in your bosom found ! 


MOST sweet it is with unuplifted eyes 

To pace the ground, if path be there or none, 

158 to] in MS. 

XLVII. 2 so 1845: You tell me, Delia! 1835-43 5-6 so 1846: Spain 

You say, but from Helvellyn's 1835-43 



While a fair region round the traveller lies 

Which he forbears again to look upon ; 

Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, 5 

The work of Fancy, or some happy tone 

Of meditation, slipping in between 

The beauty coming and the beauty gone. 

If Thought and Love desert us, from that day 

Let us break off all commerce with the Muse : 10 

With Thought and Love companions of our way, 

Whate'er the senses take or may refuse, 

The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews 

Of inspiration on the humblest lay. 





[Composed 1798. Published 1798.] 

"WHY, William, on that old grey stone, 
Thus for the length of half a day, 
Why, William, sit you thus alone, 
And dream your time away ? 

" Where are your books ? that light bequeathed 5 

To Beings else forlorn and blind ! 

Up ! up ! and drink the spirit breathed 

From dead men to their kind. 

"You look round on your Mother Earth, 

As if she for no purpose bore you ; 10 

As if you were her first-born birth, 

And none had lived before you!" 

One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake, 

When life was sweet, I knew not why, 

To me my good friend Matthew spake, 15 

And thus I made reply : 

"The eye it cannot choose but see; 

We cannot bid the ear be still ; 

Our bodies feel, where'er they be, 

Against or with our will. 20 

"Nor less I deem that there are Powers 
Which of themselves our minds impress ; 
That we can feed this mind of ours 
In a wise passiveness. 

"Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum 25 

Of things for ever speaking, 
That nothing of itself will come, 
But we must still be seeking ? 

" Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, 

Conversing as I may, 3 

I sit upon this old grey stone, 

And dream my time away." 



[Composed 1798. Published 1798.] 

UP ! up ! my Friend, and quit your books ; 
Or surely you'll grow double : 
Up ! up ! my Friend, and clear your looks ; 
Why all this toil and trouble ? 

The sun, above the mountain's head, 5 

A freshening lustre mellow 

Through all the long green fields has spread, 

His first sweet evening yellow. 

Books ! 'tis a dull and endless strife : 

Come, hear the woodland linnet, 10 

How sweet his music ! on my life, 

There 's more of wisdom in it. 

And hark ! how blithe the throstle sings ! 

He, too, is no mean preacher: 

Come forth into the light of things, 15 

Let Nature be your Teacher. 

She has a world of ready wealth, 

Our minds and hearts to bless 

Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, 

Truth breathed by cheerfulness. 20 

One impulse from a vernal wood 
May teach you more of man, 
Of moral evil and of good, 
Than all the sages can. 

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings ; 25 

Our meddling intellect 

Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things : 

We murder to dissect. 

Enough of Science and of Art ; 

Close up those barren leaves ; 30 

Come forth, and bring with you a heart 

That watches and receives. 

II. 1-4 so 1820: 11. 1-2 and 3-4 transposed 1798-1815 14 He, too, is 

1815 And he is 1798-1805 30 those 1837: these 1798-1832 



[Composed 1798. Published 1798.] 
I HEARD a thousand blended notes, 
While in a grove I sate reclined, 
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts 
Bring sad thoughts to the mind. 
To her fair works did Nature link 5 

The human soul that through me ran ; 
And much it grieved my heart to think 
What man has made of man. 
Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, 
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths ; 10 

And 'tis my faith that every flower 
Enjoys the air it breathes. 
The birds around me hopped and played, 
Their thoughts I cannot measure : 
But the least motion which they made, 15 

It seemed a thrill of pleasure. 
The budding twigs spread out their fan, 
To catch the breezy air ; 
And I must think, do all I can, 
That there was pleasure there. 20 

If this belief from heaven be sent, 
If such be Nature's holy plan, 
Have I not reason to lament 
What man has made of man ? 



[Composed probably September or October, 1800. Published 1800,] 

I MARVEL how Nature could ever find space 

For so many strange contrasts in one human face : 

There 's thought and no thought, and there 's paleness and bloom 

And bustle and sluggishness, pleasure and gloom. 

III. 9 green 1837 sweet 1798-1832 

21-2 so 1837: If I these thoughts may not prevent, 

If such be of my creed the plan 1798-1815 : 1820 aa 1837 but 
in 21 is for be; 21 From Heaven if this belief be sent 1827-32 

IV. 2 so 1837 : For all the expression (the things and the nothings) you see 
in his MS.: For the weight and the levity seen in his 1800 4 sluggishness] 
indolence MS. 


There 's weakness, and strength both redundant and vain ; 5 
Such strength as, if ever affliction and pain 
Could pierce through a temper that 's soft to disease, 
Would be rational peace a philosopher's ease. 

There 's indifference, alike when he fails or succeeds, 

And attention full ten times as much as there needs ; 10 

Pride where there 's no envy, there 's so much of joy ; 

And mildness, and spirit both forward and coy. 

There 's freedom, and sometimes a diffident stare 
Of shame scarcely seeming to know that she 's there, 
There 's virtue, the title it surely may claim, 15 

Yet wants heaven knows what to be worthy the name. 

This picture from nature may seem to depart, 

Yet the Man would at once run away with your heart ; 

And I for five centuries right gladly would be 

Such an odd such a kind happy creature as he. 20 


[Composed 1798. Published 1798.] 

IT is the first mild day of March : 
Each minute sweeter than before, 
The redbreast sings from the tall larch 
That stands beside our door. 

There is a blessing in the air, 5 

Which seems a sense of joy to yield 
To the bare trees, and mountains bare, 
And grass in the green field. 

My sister ! ('tis a wish of mine) 

Now that our morning meal is done, 10 

Make haste, your morning task resign ; 

Come forth and feel the sun. 

7-8 Could pierce through his temper as soft as a fleece 

Would surely be fortitude, sister of peace. MS. 

9-12, 13-16 transposed in MS. 

17 so 1837 This picture, you say, has not nature nor art MS.; What a 

picture! 'tis drawn without nature or art 1800 

V. 9 My] Dear C 


Edward will come with you ; and, pray, 

Put on with speed your woodland dress ; 

And bring no book : for this one day 15 

Well give to idleness. 

No joyless forms shall regulate 

Our living calendar : 

We from to-day, my Friend, will date 

The opening of the year. 20 

Love, now a universal birth, 
From heart to heart is stealing, 
From earth to man, from man to earth : 
It is the hour of feeling. 

One moment now may give us more 25 

Than years of toiling reason : 

Our minds shall drink at every pore 

The spirit of the season. 

Some silent laws our hearts will make, 

Which they shall long obey : 3 

We for the year to come may take 

Our temper from to-day. 

And from the blessed power that rolls 

About, below, above, 

Well frame the measure of our souls : 35 

They shall be tuned to love. 

Then come, my Sister! come, I pray, 

With speed put on your woodland dress ; 

And bring no book : for this one day 

Well give to idleness. 40 



With an incident in which he was concerned. 
[Composed 1798. Published 1798.] 

IN the sweet shire of Cardigan, 
Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall, 
An old Man dwells, a little man, 
Tis said he once was tall. 

26 so 1837: Than fifty years of reason 1798-1832 29 will 1820 may 




Full five-and-thirty years he lived 5 

A running huntsman merry ; 
And still the centre of his cheek 
Is red as a ripe cherry. 

No man like him the horn could sound, 

And hill and valley rang with glee 10 

When Echo bandied, round and round, 

The halloo of Simon Lee. 

In those proud days, he little cared 

For husbandry or tillage ; 

To blither tasks did Simon rouse 15 

The sleepers of the village. 

He all the country could outrun, 

Could leave both man and horse behind ; 

And often, ere the chase was done, 

He reeled, and was stone-blind. 20 

And still there 's something in the world 

At which his heart rejoices ; 

For when the chiming hounds are out, 

He dearly loves their voices ! 

But, oh the heavy change ! bereft 25 

Of health, strength, friends, and kindred, see! 

VI. 1-56 so 1837 


In the sweet shire of Cardigan, 
Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall, 
An old man dwells, a little man, 
I've heard he once was tall. 
Of years he has upon his back, 
No doubt, a burthen weighty ; 
He says he is three score and ten, 
But others say he 's eighty. 


A long blue livery -coat has he, 
That 's fair behind, and fair before ; 
Yet, meet him where you will, you 


At once that he is poor. 
Full five and twenty years he lived 
A running huntsman merry ; 
And, though he has but one eye left, 
His cheek is like a cherry. 


No man like him the horn could 


And no man was so full of glee ; 
To say the least, four counties round 
Had heard of Simon Lee ; 
His master 's dead, and no one now 
Dwells in the hall of Ivor ; 
Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead ; 
He is the sole survivor. 


His hunting feats have him bereft 
Of his right eye, as you may see : 
And then, what limbs those feats 

have left 

To poor old Simon Lee ! 
He has no son, he has no child, 
His wife, an aged woman, 
Lives with him, near the waterfall, 
Upon the village common. 


Old Simon to the world is left 

In liveried poverty. 

His Master 's dead, and no one now 

Dwells in the Hall of Ivor ; 30 

Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead ; 

He is the sole survivor. 

And he is lean and he is sick ; 

His body, dwindled and awry, 

Rests upon ankles swoln and thick ; 35 

His legs are thin and dry. 

One prop he has, and only one, 

His wife, an aged woman, 

Lives with him, near the waterfall, 

Upon the village Common. 40 

Beside their moss-grown hut of clay, 

Not twenty paces from the door, 

A scrap of land they have, but they 

Are poorest of the poor. 

This scrap of land he from the heath 45 

Enclosed when he was stronger ; 

But what to them avails the land 

Which he can till no longer ? 

5. 7. 

And he is lean and he is sick, Old Ruth works out of doors with 

His little body *s half awry him, 

His ancles they are swoln and thick ; And does what Simon cannot do ; 

His legs are thin and dry. For she, not over stout of limb, 

When he was young he little knew Is stouter of the two. 

Of husbandry, or tillage ; And though you with your utmost 

And now he's forced to work skill 

though weak, From labour could not wean them, 

The weakest in the village. Alas! 'tis very little, all 

- Which they can do between them. 

6. * 

He all the country could outrun, 

Could leave both man and horse 8. 

behind ; Beside their moss-grown hut of clay, 

And often, ere the race was done, Not twenty paces from the door, 

He reeled and was stone blind. A scrap of land they have, but they 

And still there 's something in the &* Q poorest of the poor. 

world This scrap of land he from the heath 

At which his heart rejoices; Enclosed when he was stronger; 

For when the chiming hounds are But what avails the land to them, 

out, When they can till no longer ? 
He dearly loves their voices ! 
1798: for variants between 1798 and 1843 v. notes p. 413 


Oft, working by her Husband's side, 

Ruth does what Simon cannot do ; 50 

For she, with scanty cause for pride, 

Is stouter of the two. 

And, though you with your utmost skill 

From labour could not wean them, 

'Tis little, very little all 55 

That they can do between them. 

Few months of life has he in store 

As he to you will tell, 

For still, the more he works, the more 

Do his weak ankles swell. 60 

My gentle Reader, I perceive 

How patiently you've waited, 

And now I fear that you expect 

Some tale will be related. 

Reader ! had you in your mind 65 

Such stores as silent thought can bring, 

gentle Reader ! you would find 

A tale in every thing. 

What more I have to say is short, 

And you must kindly take it : 70 

It is no tale ; but, should you think, 

Perhaps a tale you'll make it. 

One summer-day I chanced to see 

This old Man doing all he could 

To unearth the root of an old tree, 75 

A stump of rotten wood. 

The mattock tottered in his hand ; 

So vain was his endeavour, 

That at the root of the old tree 

He might have worked for ever. 80 

"You're overtasked, good Simon Lee, 
Give me your tool," to him I said ; 
And at the word right gladly he 
Received my proffered aid. 

60 so 1815: His poor old ancles swell 1798-1805 

63 so 1820: And I'm afraid etc. 1798-1815 70 so 1820: I hope you'll 

etc. 1798-1815 75 so 1815: About the root etc. 1798-1805 


I struck, and with a single blow 85 

The tangled root I severed, 

At which the poor old Man so long 

And vainly had endeavoured. 

The tears into his eyes were brought, 

And thanks and praises seemed to run 90 

So fast out of his heart, I thought 

They never would have done. 

I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds 

With coldness still returning ; 

Alas ! the gratitude of men 95 

Hath oftener left me mourning. 


[Composed 1799. Published 1800.] 

The Reader must be apprised that the Stoves in North Germany generally 
have the impression of a galloping horse upon them, this being part of 
the Brunswick Arms. 

A PLAGUE on your languages, German and Norse ! 

Let me have the song of the kettle ; 

And the tongs and the poker, instead of that horse 

That gallops away with such fury and force 

On this dreary dull plate of black metal. 5 

See that Fly, a disconsolate creature ! perhaps 

A child of the field or the grove ; 

And, sorrow for him ! the dull treacherous heat 

Has seduced the poor fool from his winter retreat, 

And he creeps to the edge of my stove. 10 

Alas ! how he fumbles about the domains 

Which this comfortless oven environ ! 

He cannot find out in what track he must crawl, 

96 Hath 1820: Has 1798-1815 

VII. 1 plague on 1820: fig for 1800-15 

5/6 Our earth is no doubt made of excellent stuff ; 
But her pulses beat slower and slower: 
The weather in Forty was cutting and rough, 
And then, as Heaven knows, the Glass stood low enough ; 
And now it is four degrees lower. 1800-15 

6 See that 1820: Here 's a 1800-15 


Now back to the tiles, then in search of the wall, 

And now on the brink of the iron. 15 

Stock-still there he stands like a traveller bemazed : 

The best of his skill he has tried ; 

His feelers, methinks, I can see him put forth 

To the east and the west, to the south and the north, 

But he finds neither guide-post nor guide. 20 

His spindles sink under him, foot, leg, and thigh ! 

His eyesight and hearing are lost ; 

Between life and death his blood freezes and thaws ; 

And his two pretty pinions of blue dusky gauze 

Are glued to his sides by the frost. 25 

No brother, no mate has he near him while I 

Can draw warmth from the cheek of my Love ; 

As blest and as glad, in this desolate gloom, 

As if green summer grass were the floor of my room, 

And woodbines were hanging above. 30 

Yet, God is my witness, thou small helpless Thing ! 

Thy life I would gladly sustain 

Till summer come up from the south, and with crowds 

Of thy brethren a march thou should'st sound through the clouds, 

And back to the forests again ! 35 


[Composed 1799. Published 1800.] 

ART thou a Statist in the van 
Of public conflicts trained and bred ? 
First learn to love one living man ; 
Then may'st thou think upon the dead. 

A Lawyer art thou ? draw not nigh ! 5 

Go, carry to some fitter place 
The keenness of that practised eye, 
The hardness of that sallow face. 

14 then in search of 1837 : and now back to 1800-32 19 to the South 

1827: and the South 1 800-20 2 1 His 1 845 : See ! his 1 800-20 ; How his 

1827-37 26 mate 1827: Friend 1800-20 

VIII. 1 Statist 1837: Statesman 1800-32 2 conflicts 1837: business 

1800-32 6 fitter 1820: other 1800-16 

7-8 so 1820: The hardness of thy coward eye, 

The falsehood of thy sallow face. 1800-15 
917.17 IV F 


Art them a Man of purple cheer ? 

A rosy Man, right plump to see ? 10 

Approach ; yet, Doctor, not too near, 

This grave no cushion is for thee. 

Or art thou one of gallant pride, 

A Soldier and no man of chaff ? 

Welcome ! but lay thy sword aside, 15 

And lean upon a peasant's staff. 

Physician art thou ? one, all eyes, 

Philosopher ! a fingering slave, 

One that would peep and botanize 

Upon his mother's grave ? 20 

Wrapt closely in thy sensual fleece, 
O turn aside, and take, I pray, 
That he below may rest in peace, 
Thy ever-dwindling soul, away ! 

A Moralist perchance appears ; 25 

Led, Heaven knows how ! to this poor sod : 
And he has neither eyes nor ears ; 
Himself his world, and his own God ; 

One to whose smooth-rubbed soul can cling 

Nor form,, nor feeling, great or small ; 30 

A reasoning, self-sufficing thing, 

An intellectual All-in-all ! 

Shut close the door ; press down the latch ; 

Sleep in thy intellectual crust ; 

Nor lose ten tickings of thy watch 35 

Near this unprofitable dust. 

But who is He, with modest looks, 

And clad in homely russet brown ? 

He murmurs near the running brooks 

A music sweeter than their own. 40 

13 so 1820: Art thou a man etc. 1800-15 24 so 1837: Thy pinpoint 

of a soul, 1800-5 : That abject thing, thy soul 1815-32 30 or 1837 : 

nor 1800-32 31 self-sufficing 1800, 1815-50: self-sufficient 1802-5 


He is retired as noontide dew, 
Or fountain in a noon-day grove ; 
And you must love him, ere to you 
He will seem worthy of your love. 

The outward shows of sky and earth, 45 

Of hill and valley, he has viewed ; 
And impulses of deeper birth 
Have come to him in solitude. 

In common things that round us lie 

Some random truths he can impart, 50 

The hardest of a quiet eye 

That broods and sleeps on his own heart. 

But he is weak ; both Man and Boy, 

Hath been an idler in the land ; 

Contented if he might enjoy 55 

The things which others understand. 

Come hither in thy hour of strength ; 

Come, weak as is a breaking wave ! 

Here stretch thy body at full length ; 

Or build thy house upon this grave. 60 


[Composed 1802. Published 1807.] 

BRIGHT Mower ! whose home is everywhere, 

Bold in maternal Nature's care, 

And all the long year through the heir 

Of joy and sorrow ; 

Methinks that there abides in thee 5 

Some concord with humanity, 
Given to no other flower I see 

The forest thorough ! 

Is it that Man is soon deprest ? 

A thoughtless Thing ! who, once unblest, 10 

Does little on his memory rest, 

IX. 1-3 Confiding Flower, by Nature's care 

Made bold, who, lodging here or there, 
Art all the long year through the heir 1837 only 

2 so 1843: A Pilgrim bold in Nature's care 1807-32 3 And oft, 1827-32 
4 and 1860: or 1807-45 6 Communion with humanity 1837 only 

9 so 1807-20; 1837: And wherefore ? Man is soon deprest; 1827-32 


Or on his reason, 

And Thou would'st teach him how to find 
A shelter under every wind, 
A hope for times that are unkind 15 

And every season ? 

Thou wander'st the wide world about, 
Uncheck'd by pride or scrupulous doubt, 
With friends to greet thee, or without, 

Yet pleased and willing ; 20 

Meek, yielding to the occasion's call, 
And all things suffering from all, 
Thy function apostolical 

In peace fulfilling. 



[Composed 1799. Published 1800.] 

In the School of is a tablet, on which are inscribed, in gilt letters, 

the Names of the several persons who have been Schoolmasters there 
since the foundation of the School, with the time at which they entered 
upon and quitted their office. Opposite to one of those Names the Author 
wrote the following lines. 

IF Nature, for a favourite child, 
In thee hath tempered so her clay, 
That every hour thy heart runs wild, 
Yet never once doth go astray, 

Bead o'er these lines ; and then review 5 

This tablet, that thus humbly rears 

In such diversity of hue 

Its history of two hundred years. 

When through this little wreck of fame, 

Cipher and syllable! thine eye 10 

Has travelled down to Matthew's name, 

Pause with no common sympathy. 

And, if a sleeping tear should wake, 

Then be it neither checked nor stayed : 

For Matthew a request I make 15 

Which for himself he had not made. 

17-24 not in 1827-32 

X. MATTHEW 1837: Lines written on a tablet in a School 1800 


Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er, 

Is silent as a standing pool ; 

Far from the chimney's merry roar, 

And murmur of the village school. 20 

The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs 
Of one tired out with fun and madness ; 
The tears which came to Matthew's eyes 
Were tears of light, the dew of gladness. 

Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup 25 

Of still and serious thought went round, 
It seemed as if he drank it up 
He felt with spirit so profound. 

Thou soul of God's best earthly mould! 

Thou happy Soul ! and can it be 3 

That these two words of glittering gold 

Are all that must remain of thee ? 



[Composed 1799. Published 1800.] 

WE walked along, while bright and red 
Uprose the morning sun ; 
And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said, 
"The will of God be done!" 

A village schoolmaster was he, 5 

With hair of glittering grey ; 
As blithe a man as you could see 
On a spring holiday. 

And on that morning, through the grass, 

And by the steaming rills, 10 

We travelled merrily, to pass 

A day among the hills. 

"Our work," said I, "was well begun, 

Then, from thy breast what thought, 

Beneath so beautiful a sun, 15 

So sad a sigh has brought ?" 

24 dew 1815: oil 1800-6 32 to thee ? 1805 only 


A second time did Matthew stop ; 

And fixing still his eye 

Upon the eastern mountain-top, 

To me he made reply: 20 

"Yon cloud with that long purple cleft 
Brings fresh into my mind 
A day like this which I have left 
Full thirty years behind. 

"And just above yon slope of corn 25 

Such colours, and no other, 
Were in the sky, that April morn, 
Of this the very brother. 

"With rod and line I sued the sport 
Which that sweet season gave, 3 

And, to the churchyard come, stopped short 
Beside my daughter's grave. 

"Nine summers had she scarcely seen, 

The pride of all the vale ; 

And then she sang ; she would have been 35 

A very nightingale. 

"Six feet in earth my Emma lay ; 

And yet I loved her more, 

For so it seemed, than till that day 

I e'er had loved before. 40 

"And, turning from her grave, I met, 
Beside the churchyard yew, 
A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet 
With points of morning dew. 

"A basket on her head she bare ; 45 

Her brow was smooth and white : 
To see a child so very fair, 
It was a pure delight ! 

XI. 26-8 so 1802: And on that slope of springing corn 

The self-same crimson hue 

Fell from the sky that April morn, 

The same which now I view! 1800 
29-30 so 1816: ... my silent sport 

I plied by Derwent's wave, 1800-5 
31 so 1837; And coming to the church, 1800-32 


"No fountain from its rocky cave 

E'er tripped with foot so free ; 50 

She seemed as happy as a wave 

That dances on the sea. 

"There came from me a sigh of pain 

Which I could ill confine ; 

I looked at her, and looked again : 55 

And did not wish her mine!" 

Matthew is in his grave, yet now, 

Methinks, I see him stand, 

As at that moment, with a bough 

Of wilding in his hand. 60 


[Composed 1799. Published 1800.] 

WE talked with open heart, and tongue 
Affectionate and true, 
A pair of friends, though I was young, 
And Matthew seventy- two. 

We lay beneath a spreading oak, 5 

Beside a mossy seat ; 

And from the turf a fountain broke, 

And gurgled at our feet. 

"Now, Matthew!" said I, "let us match 

This water's pleasant tune 10 

With some old border-song, or catch 

That suits a summer's noon ; 

"Or of the church-clock and the chimes 

Sing here beneath the shade, 

That half-mad thing of witty rhymes 15 

Which you last April made!" 

In silence Matthew lay, and eyed 

The spring beneath the tree ; 

And thus the dear old Man replied, 

The grey-haired man of glee : 20 

59 a 1827: his 1800-15 

XII. 9 so 1820: Now, Matthew, let us try to match 1800-15 


"No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears ; 
How merrily it goes ! 
Twill murmur on a thousand years, 
And flow as now it flows. 

"And here, on this delightful day, 25 

I cannot choose but think 
How oft, a vigorous man, I lay 
Beside this fountain's brink. 

"My eyes are dim with childish tears, 

My heart is idly stirred, 30 

For the same sound is in my ears 

Which in those days I heard. 

"Thus fares it still in our decay: 

And yet the wiser mind 

Mourns less for what age takes away 35 

Than what it leaves behind. 

"The blackbird amid leafy trees, 

The lark above the hill, 

Let loose their carols when they please, 

Are quiet when they will. 40 

"With Nature never do they wage 
A foolish strife ; they see 
A happy youth, and their old age 
Is beautiful and free : 

"But we are pressed by heavy laws ; 45 

And often, glad no more, 

We wear a face of joy, because 

We have been glad of yore. 

"If there be one who need bemoan 

His kindred laid in earth, 50 

The household hearts that were his own ; 

It is the man of mirth. 

"My days, my Friend, are almost gone, 
My life has been approved, 

21 so 1837: Down to the vale this water steers 1800-32 
20/21 Down to the vale with eager speed 

Behold this streamlet run, 

From subterranean bondage freed, 

And glittering in the sun. C 

21 No guide it needs, no check it fears C 37 amid leafy 1837: in 

the summer 1800-32 38 above 1837: upon 1800-32 


And many love me ! but by none 55 

Am I enough beloved." 

"Now both himself and me he wrongs, 

The man who thus complains ! 

I live and sing my idle songs 

Upon these happy plains ; 60 

"And, Matthew, for thy children dead 
I'll be a son to thee!" 
At this he grasped my hand, and said, 
"Alas! that cannot be." 

We rose up from the fountain-side ; 65 

And down the smooth descent 

Of the green sheep-track did we glide ; 

And through the wood we went ; 

And, ere we came to Leonard's rock, 

He sang those witty rhymes 70 

About the crazy old church-clock, 

And the bewildered chimes. 


[Composed ?. Published 1807.] 


I AM not One who much or oft delight 

To season my fireside with personal talk, 

Of friends, who live within an easy walk, 

Or neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight : 

And, for my chance-acquaintance, ladies bright, 5 

Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk, 

These all wear out of me, like Forms, with chalk 

Painted on rich men's floors, for one feast-night. 

Better than such discourse doth silence long, 

Long, barren silence, square with my desire ; 10 

To sit without emotion, hope, or aim, 

In the loved presence of my cottage-fire, 

And listen to the flapping of the flame, 

Or kettle whispering its faint undersong. 

63 my hand 1815: his hands MS., 1800-5 

XIII. 3 Of 1815: About MS., 1807 12 so 1815: By my half-kitchen, 

my half-parlour fire MS., 1807 14 kettle 1827: kettle, 1807-20 



"Yet life," you say, "is life ; we have seen and see, 15 

And with a living pleasure we describe ; 
And fits of sprightly malice do but bribe 
The languid mind into activity. 
Sound sense, and love itself, and mirth and glee 
Are fostered by the comment and the gibe." 20 

Even be it so : yet still among your tribe, 
Our daily world's true Worldlings, rank not me ! 
Children are blest, and powerful ; their world lies 
More justly balanced ; partly at their feet, 
And part far from them: sweetest melodies 25 

Are those that are by distance made more sweet ; 
Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes, 
He is a Slave ; the meanest we can meet ! 


Wings have we, and as far as we can go 
We may find pleasure : wilderness and wood, 30 

Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood 
Which with the lofty sanctifies the low. 
Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books, we know, 
Are a substantial world, both pure and good : 
Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, 35 
Our pastime and our happiness will grow. 
There find I personal themes, a plenteous store, 
Matter wherein right voluble I am, 
To which I listen with a ready ear ; 

Two shall be named, pre-eminently dear, 40 

The gentle Lady married to the Moor ; 
And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb. 


Nor can I not believe but that hereby 

Great gains are mine ; for thus I live remote 

From evil-speaking ; rancour, never sought, 45 

Comes to me not ; malignant truth, or lie. 

37-40 so 1827: There do I find a never-failing store 

Of personal themes, and such as I love best ; 

Matter etc. 

Two will I mention, dearer than the rest: MS.. 1807-20 


Hence have I genial seasons, hence have' I 

Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought: 

And thus from day to day my little boat 

Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably. 50 

Blessings be with them and eternal praise, 

Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares 

The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs 

Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays ! 

Oh ! might my name be numbered among theirs, 55 

Then gladly would I end my mortal days. 


[Composed 1846. Published 1850.] 

DISCOURSE was deemed Man's noblest attribute, 

And written words the glory of his hand ; 

Then followed Printing with enlarged command 

For thought dominion vast and absolute 

For spreading truth, and making love expand. 5 

Now prose and verse sunk into disrepute 

Must lacquey a dumb Art that best can suit 

The taste of this once-intellectual Land. 

A backward movement surely have we here, 

From manhood back to childhood ; for the age 10 

Back towards caverned life's first rude career. 

Avaunt this vile abuse of pictured page ! 

Must eyes be all in all, the tongue and ear 

Nothing ? Heaven keep us from a lower stage 1 



Composed while we were labouring together in his pleasure-ground. 
[Composed (probably) 1806. Published 1807.] 

SPADE ! with which Wilkinson hath tilled his lands, 
And shaped these pleasant walks by Emont's side, 
Thou art a tool of honour in my hands ; 
I press Thee, through the yielding soil, with pride. 

48 discourse] desires MS. 

XIV. 11 Backward as far as Egypt's oldest year MS. 


Rare master has it been thy lot to know ; 5 

Long hast Thou served a man to reason true ; 
Whose life combines the best of high and low, 
The labouring many and the resting few ; 

Health, meekness, ardour, quietness secure, 

And industry of body and of mind ; 10 

And elegant enjoyments, that are pure 

As nature is ; too pure to be refined. 

Here often hast Thou heard the Poet sing 

In concord with his river murmuring by ; 

Or in some silent field, while timid spring 15 

Is yet uncheered by other minstrelsy. 

Who shall inherit Thee when death has laid 

Low in the darksome cell thine own dear lord ? 

That man will have a trophy, humble Spade ! 

A trophy nobler than a conqueror's sword. 20 

If he be one that feels, with skill to part 
False praise from true, or, greater from the less, 
Thee will he welcome to his hand and heart, 
Thou monument of peaceful happiness ! 

He will not dread with Thee a toilsome day 25 

Thee his loved servant, his inspiring mate ! 
And, when Thou art past service, worn away, 
No dull oblivious nook shall hide thy fate. 

His thrift thy uselessness will never scorn ; 

An heir-loom ui his cottage wilt Thou be : 30 

High will he hang thee up, well pleased to adorn 

His rustic chimney with the last of Thee ! 

XV. 8 labouring 1837: toiling 1807-32 9 so 1827: Health, quiet, 

meekness, ardour, hope secure 1807-20 20 so 1815: More noble than 

the noblest warrior's sword. 1807 

25-6 so 1837: With thee he will not dread a toilsome day, 
His powerful servant etc. 1807-32 

28 so 1837: Thee a surviving soul shall consecrate. 1807-32 

29 usefulness 1807 and 1832 31 so 1837: ... up, and will adorn 



[Composed ?. Published 1837 (The Tribute: edited by Lord Northampton); 

vol. of 1842.] 

Lo ! where the Moon along the sky 
Sails with her happy destiny ; 
Oft is she hid from mortal eye 

Or dimly seen, 
But when the clouds asunder fly 5 

How bright her mien ! 

Far different we a froward race, 
Thousands though rich in Fortune's grace 
With cherished sullenness of pace 

Their way pursue, 10 

Ingrates who wear a smileless face 

The whole year through. 

If kindred humours e'er would make 

My spirit droop for drooping's sake, 

From Fancy following in thy wake, 15 

Bright ship of heaven ! 
A counter impulse let me take 

And be forgiven. 


[Composed 1805. Published 1807.] 

ON his morning rounds the Master 
Goes to learn how all things fare ; 
Searches pasture after pasture, 
Sheep and cattle eyes with care ; 

XVI. 1-2 The moon that sails along the sky 

Moves with a happy destiny, The Tribute 
6/7 Not flagging when the winds all sleep, 

Not hurried onward, when they sweep 

The bosom of th' aetherial deep, 

Not turned aside, 

She knows an even course to keep, 

Whate'er betide. The Tribute 
7 Perverse are we etc. The Tribute 


And, for silence or for talk, 5 

He hath comrades in his walk ; 
Four dogs, each pair of different breed, 
Distinguished two for scent, and two for speed. 

See a hare before him started ! 

Off they fly in earnest chase ; 10 

Every dog is eager-hearted, 

All the four are in the race : 

And the hare whom they pursue, 

Knows from instinct what to do ; 

Her hope is near : no turn she makes ; 15 

But, like an arrow, to the river takes. 

Deep the river was, and crusted 

Thinly by a one night's frost ; 

But the nimble Hare hath trusted 

To the ice, and safely crost ; 20 

She hath crost, and without heed 

All are following at full speed, 

When, lo ! the ice, so thinly spread, 

Breaks and the greyhound, DAET, is over-head ! 

Better fate have PRINCE and SWALLOW 25 

See them cleaving to the sport ! 

Music has no heart to follow, 

Little Music, she stops short. 

She hath neither wish nor heart, 

Hers is now another part : 30 

A loving creature she, and brave ! 

And fondly strives her struggling friend to save. 

From the brink her paws she stretches, 

Very hands as you would say ! 

And afflicting moans she fetches, 35 

As he breaks the ice away. 

For herself she hath no fears, 

Him alone she sees and hears, 

Makes efforts with complainings ; nor gives o'er 

Until her fellow sinks to re-appear no more. 40 

XVII. 14 Knows from 1837: Hath an 1807-32 32 fondly strives 

1815 : doth her best 1807 39-40 . . . efforts with . . . sinks to re-appear 

1837: . . . efforts and . . . sank, [sunk 1807-15] and re-appear'd 1807-32 



[Composed 1805. Published 1807.] 

LIE here, without a record of thy worth, 

Beneath a covering of the common earth ! 

It is not from unwillingness to praise, 

Or want of love, that here no Stone we raise ; 

More thou deserv'st ; but this man gives to man, 5 

Brother to brother, this is all we can. 

Yet they to whom thy virtues made thee dear 

Shall find thee through all changes of the year : 

This Oak points out thy grave ; the silent tree 

Will gladly stand a monument of thee. 10 

We grieved for thee, and wished thy end were past ; 
And willingly have laid thee here at last : 
For thou hadst lived till every thing that cheers 
In thee had yielded to the weight of years ; 
Extreme old age had wasted thee away, 15 

And left thee but a glimmering of the day ; 
Thy ears were deaf, and feeble were thy knees, 
I saw thee stagger in the summer breeze, 
Too weak to stand against its sportive breath, 
And ready for the gentlest stroke of death. 20 

It came, and we were glad ; yet tears were shed ; 
Both man and woman wept when thou wert dead ; 
Not only for a thousand thoughts that were, 
Old household thoughts, in which thou hadst thy share ; 
But for some precious boons vouchsafed to thee, 25 

Found scarcely anywhere in like degree ! 
For love, that comes wherever life and sense 
Are given by God, in thee was most intense ; 
A chain of heart, a feeling of the mind, 

XVIII. Before I. 1. Lie here sequester'd: be this little mound 

For ever thine, and be it holy ground! 1807-20 
2 Beneath a 1827: Beneath the 1807-20 
6-6 that Man gives to Man 

The Brother to the Brother all we can L 

11 so 1837: 1 pray'd for thee, and that thy end were past 1807-15; 1820-32 
a* text builforWe 

27-8 50 1837: For love, that comes to all; the holy sense, 
Best gift of God etc. 1807-32 


A tender sympathy, which did thee bind 30 

Not only to us Men, but to thy Kind : 

Yea, for thy fellow-brutes in thee we saw 

A soul of love, love's intellectual law : 

Hence, if we wept, it was not done in shame ; 

Our tears from passion and from reason came, 35 

And, therefore, shalt thou be an honoured name ! 


[Composed 1805. Published 1807.] 
A BARKING sound the Shepherd hears, 
A cry as of a dog or fox ; 
He halts and searches with his eyes 
Among the scattered rocks : 

And now at distance can discern 5 

A stirring in a brake of fern ; 
And instantly a dog is seen, 
Glancing through that covert green. 

The Dog is not of mountain breed ; 

Its motions, too, are wild and shy ; 10 

With something, as the Shepherd thinks, 

Unusual in its cry : 

Nor is there any one in sight 

All round, in hollow or on height ; 

Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear ; 15 

What is the creature doing here ? 

It was a cove, a huge recess, 
That keeps, till June, December's snow ; 
A lofty precipice in front, 

A silent tarn 1 -below ! 20 

Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, 
Remote from public road or dwelling, 
Pathway, or cultivated land ; 
From trace of human foot or hand. 
1 Tarn is a small Mere or Lake, mostly high up in the mountains. 

33 A soul 1837: The soul 1807-32 

XIX. 7-8 so 1816-60 (but 1816 from for through) 
From which immediately leaps out 
A Dog, and yelping runs about MSS., 1807 

23-4 And oft from month to month they say 
No human being goes that way MS. del. 


There sometimes doth a leaping fish 25 

Send through the tarn a lonely cheer ; 

The crags repeat the raven's croak, 

In symphony austere ; 

Thither the rainbow comes the cloud 

And mists that spread the flying shroud ; 30 

And sunbeams ; and the sounding blast, 

That, if it could, would hurry past ; 

But that enormous barrier holds it fast. 

Not free from boding thoughts, a while 

The Shepherd stood ; then makes his way 35 

O'er rocks and stones, following the Dog 

As quickly as he may ; 

Nor far had gone before he found 

A human skeleton on the ground ; 

The appalled Discoverer with a sigh 40 

Looks round, to learn the history. 

From those abrupt and perilous rocks 
The Man had fallen, that place of fear ! 

25 doth 1820: does MS., 1807 33 holds 1837: binds MSS.-1832 

34 so 1815: Not knowing what to think MSS.. 1807 36 so 1837: 

Towards the Dog, o'er rocks and stones MSS.-1832 40 so 1815: Sad 

Shepherd etc. MS., 1807 
40-1 Sad sight ! he leaves it, as it lies, 

Untouch'd and to the village hies. MSS. 
41/2 A Company return'd forthwith ; 

And mark what to their eyes was shewn! 

The raiment yet was on the bones, 

Although the flesh was gone ; 

A raiment, though decay'd untorn ; 

Such as the living Man had worn ; 

As if the flesh, from day to day, 

Had perish' d by its own decay. 

How died he ? This was quickly learn'd 
By proofs collected here and there ; 
An angling rod which from the steep 
Hung midway in the air, 
A Hat, and, still on higher ground, 
Some needments in a kerchief bound ; 
These did, with other proofs, make out 
The mournful story past all doubt. MSS. 

42-9 From those abrupt and perilous rocks 

The Man had fallen, that place of fear ! 
And signs and circumstances dawn'd 
917.17 IV G 


At length upon the Shepherd's mind 

It breaks, and all is clear : 45 

He instantly recalled the name, 

And who he was, and whence he came ; 

Remembered, too, the very day 

On which the Traveller passed this way. 

But hear a wonder, for whose sake 50 

This lamentable tale I tell ! 

A lasting monument of words 

This wonder merits well. 

The Dog, which still was hovering nigh, 

Repeating the same timid cry, 55 

This Dog, had been through three months' space 

A dweller in that savage place. 

Yes, proof was plain that, since the day 

When this ill-fated Traveller died, 

The Dog had watched about the spot, 60 

Or by his master's side : 

Till everything was clear ; 
They made discovery of his name, 
And who he was, and whence he came, 
And some could call to mind the day 
When with his Dog he pass'd this way. 

A youth he was, and come from far, 

Yet, in this Country was well known 

As one who wander'd through the hills 

And loved to be alone. 

With pencil and with angling rod 

He went, and oft such places trod 

That some had warn'd him to beware, 

Who witness'd 1 how he went and where. MSS. 
60-1 so 1815: But hear a wonder now, for sake 

Of which this mournful Tale I tell MSS., 1807 
67/8 In the forlorn Abyss had lived : 

To this unfriendly spot had clung 

Exposed to sun and wind ; and here 

Had she brought forth her Young, 

For of her helpless Offspring, one 

Was lying near the Skeleton ; 

Which must (as its appearance told) 

Have lived till it was six weeks old. MSS. 

69 so 1827: On which the Traveller (Young Man MSS.) thus had died 


By objects which might force the soul to abate 

Her feeling, rendered more compassionate ; 20 

Is placable because occasions rise 

So often that demand such sacrifice ; 

More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure, 

As tempted more ; more able to endure, 

As more exposed to suffering and distress ; 25 

Thence, also, more alive to tenderness. 

'Tis he whose law is reason ; who depends 

Upon that law as on the best of friends ; 

Whence, in a state where men are tempted still 

To evil for a guard against worse ill, 30 

And what in quality or act is best 

Doth seldom on a right foundation rest, 

He labours good on good to fix, and owes 

To virtue every triumph that he knows : 

Who, if he rise to station of command, 35 

Rises by open means ; and there will stand 

On honourable terms, or else retire, 

And in himself possess his own desire ; 

Who comprehends his trust, and to the same 

Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim ; 4 

And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait 

For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state ; 

Whom they must follow ; on whose head must fall, 

Like showers of manna, if they come at all : 

Whose powers shed round him in the common strife, 45 

Or mild concerns of ordinary life, 

A constant influence, a peculiar grace ; 

But who, if he be called upon to face 

Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined 

Great issues, good or bad for human kind, 50 

Is happy as a Lover ; and attired 

With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired ; 

And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law 

In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw ; 

Or if an unexpected call succeed, 55 

Come when it will, is equal to the need: 

He who, though thus endued as with a sense 

And faculty for storm and turbulence, 

Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans 

33 so 1837: He fixes good on good alone, 1807-32 


To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes ; 60 

Sweet images! which, whereso'er he be, 

Are at his heart ; and such fidelity 

It is his darling passion to approve ; 

More brave for this, that he hath much to love : 

'Tis, finally, the Man, who lifted high, 65 

Conspicuous object in a Nation's eye, 

Or left uiithought-of in obscurity, 

Who, with a toward or untoward lot, 

Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not 

Plays, in the many games of life, that one 7 

Where what he most doth value must be won : 

Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, 

Nor thought of tender happiness betray ; 

Who, not content that former worth stand fast, 

Looks forward, persevering to the last, 75 

From well to better, daily self-surpast : 

Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth 

For ever, and to noble deeds give birth, 

Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame, 

And leave a dead unprofitable name 80 

Finds comfort in himself and in his cause ; 

And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws 

His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause : 

This is the happy Warrior ; this is He 

That every Man in arms should wish to be. 85 




[Composed 1807. Published 1815 (4to, along with The White Doe of 

Bylstone); ed. 1815.] 

" Wfat i* Boob for a 6oottee tone? " 

With these dark words begins my Tale ; 

And their meaning is, whence can comfort spring 

When Prayer is of no avail ? 

1 See "The White Doe of Rylstone." 

79 so 1840; fall and sleep 1837: Or He must go to dust without 
1807-32 85 That 1845: Whom 1807-43 

XXII. 2 The lady answer'd "endless sorrow" 

Her words are clear ; but the Falconer's words 


i# floob for a bootless iene? " 5 

The Falconer to the Lady said ; 

And she made answer "ENDLESS SORROW!" 

For she knew that her Son was dead. 

She knew it by the Falconer's words, 

And from the look of the Falconer's eye ; 10 

And from the love which was in her soul 

For her youthful Romilly. 

Young Romilly through Barden woods 

Is ranging high and low ; 

And holds a greyhound in a leash, 15 

To let slip upon buck or doe. 

The pair have reached that fearful chasm, 

How tempting to bestride ! 

For lordly Wharf is there pent in 

With rocks on either side. 20 

The striding-place is called THE STRID, 
A name which it took of yore : 
A thousand years hath it borne that name, 
And shall a thousand more. 

And hither is young Romilly come, 25 

And what may now forbid 

That he, perhaps for the hundredth time, 

Shall bound across THE STRID ? 

He sprang in glee, for what cared he 

That the river was strong, and the rocks were steep ? 30 

But the greyhound in the leash hung back, 

And checked him in his leap. 

The Boy is in the arms of Wharf, 
And strangled by a merciless force ; 

Are a path that is dark to travel thorough. 

These words I bring from the Banks of Wharf, 

Dark words to front an antient tale ; MS. 

7 "endless sorrow"] as ye have heard MS. 11 soul] heart MS. 17 
The pair 1820; And the pair MS., 1815 
18-19 Where he who dares may stride 

Across the river Wharf, pent in MS. 
26 hither] thither MS. 


For never more was young Romilly seen 35 

Till he rose a lifeless corse. 

Now there is stillness in the vale, 

And long, unspeaking, sorrow : 

Wharf shall be to pitying hearts 

A name more sad than Yarrow. 40 

If for a Lover the Lady wept, 

A solace she might borrow 

From death, and from the passion of death : 

Old Wharf might heal her sorrow. 

She weeps not for the wedding-day 45 

Which was to be to-morrow : 

Her hope was a further-looking hope, 

And hers is a mother's sorrow. 

He was a tree that stood alone, 

And proudly did its branches wave ; 50 

And the root of this delightful tree 

Was in her husband's grave ! 

Long, long in darkness did she sit, 

And her first words were, "Let there be 

In Bolton, on the field of Wharf, 55 

A stately Priory!" 

The stately Priory was reared ; 

And Wharf, as he moved along, 

To matins joined a mournful voice, 

Nor failed at even-song. 60 

And the Lady prayed in heaviness 
That looked Hot for relief! 
But slowly did her succour come, 
And a patience to her grief. 

Oh ! there is never sorrow of heart 65 

That shall lack a timely end, 
If but to God we turn, and ask 
Of Him to be our friend ! 

39-40 Wharf has buried fonder hopes 

Than e'er were drown'd in Yarrow MS. 
42 solace] comfort MS. 




[Composed 1816. Published 1820.] 
THE Danish Conqueror, on his royal chair, 
Mustering a face of haughty sovereignty, 
To aid a covert purpose, cried "O ye 
Approaching Waters of the deep, that share 
With this green isle my fortunes, come not where 5 

Your Master's throne is set." Deaf was the Sea ; 
Her waves rolled on, respecting his decree 
Less than they heed a breath of wanton air. 
Then Canute, rising from the invaded throne, 
Said to his servile Courtiers, "Poor the reach, 10 

The undisguised extent, of mortal sway ! 
He only is a King, and he alone 
Deserves the name (this truth the billows preach) 
Whose everlasting laws, sea, earth, and heaven obey." 

This just reproof the prosperous Dane 15 

Drew from the influx of the main, 
For some whose rugged northern mouths would strain 
At oriental flattery ; 

And Canute (fact more worthy to be known) 
From that time forth did for his brows disown 20 

The ostentatious symbol of a crown ; 
Esteeming earthly royalty 
Contemptible as vain. 

Now hear what one of elder days, 

Rich theme of England's fondest praise, 25 

Her darling Alfred, might have spoken ; 

XXIII. 6-8 so 1840 but had for heed: 
. . . Absurd decree ! 

A mandate uttered to the foaming sea, 
Is to its motion less than wanton air MS. 1837 
The foaming sea Heard and rolled on respecting his decree 
Less than it heeds etc. as text C 

19 which is worthier to be known MS. fact 1849: truth MS. 1820-45 
23 as 1849: and 1820-45 
267 Her darling Alfred might have taught 
The Sea, the prompter of his thought, 
Such words as these methinks he might have spoken 
To chear etc. MS. 


To cheer the remnant of his host 

When he was driven from coast to coast, 

Distressed and harassed, but with mind unbroken : 

"My faithful followers, lo! the tide is spent 3 

That rose, and steadily advanced to fill 
The shores and channels, working Nature's will 
Among the mazy streams that backward went, 
And in the sluggish pools where ships are pent : 
And now, his task performed, the flood stands still, 35 
At the green base of many an inland hill, 
In placid beauty and sublime content ! 
Such the repose that sage and hero find ; 
Such measured rest the sedulous and good 
Of humbler name ; whose souls do, like the flood 40 

Of Ocean, press right on ; or gently wind, 
Neither to be diverted nor withstood, 
Until they reach the bounds by Heaven assigned." 


[Composed 1816. Published 1820.] 

"A LITTLE onward lend thy guiding hand 

To these dark steps, a little further on!" 

What trick of memory to my voice hath brought 

This mournful iteration ? For though Time, 

The Conqueror, crowns the Conquered, on his brow 5 

Planting his favourite silver diadem, 

Nor he, nor minister of his intent 

To run before him, hath enrolled me yet, 

Though not unmenaced, among those who lean 

Upon a living staff, with borrowed sight. 10 

O my own Dora, my beloved child ! 

Should that day come but hark ! the birds salute 

The cheerful dawn, brightening for me the east ; 

30 My Son, behold the [ ] of the tide MS. 35 his 1837: its MSS., 
1820-32 37 sublime] entire MSS. 39 sedulous] diligent MS. 

XXIV. 8-9 To run before with too officious speed 

Casting a shadow on his Master's path 

Hath been permitted to enroll me yet 

Though etc. MS. corr. to text 
II so 1850: O my Antigone, beloved child! MS., 1820-46 


For me, thy natural leader, once again 

Impatient to conduct thee, not as erst 15 

A tottering infant, with compliant stoop 

From flower to flower supported ; but to curb 

Thy nymph-like step swift-bounding o'er the lawn, 

Along the loose rocks, or the slippery verge 

Of foaming torrents. From thy orisons 20 

Come forth ; and, while the morning air is yet 

Transparent as the soul of innocent youth, 

Let me, thy happy guide, now point thy way, 

And now precede thee, winding to and fro, 

Till we by perseverance gain the top 25 

Of some smooth ridge, whose brink precipitous 

Kindles intense desire for powers withheld 

From this corporeal frame ; whereon who stands 

Is seized with strong incitement to push forth 

His arms, as swimmers use, and plunge dread thought, 30 

For pastime plunge into the u abrupt abyss", 

Where ravens spread their plumy vans, at ease ! 

And yet more gladly thee would I conduct 
Through woods and spacious forests, to behold 
There, how the Original of human art, 35 

Heaven-prompted Nature, measures and erects 
Her temples, fearless for the stately work, 
Though waves, to every breeze, its high-arched roof, 
And storms the pillars rock. But we such schools 
Of reverential awe will chiefly seek 40 

In the still summer noon, while beams of light, 
Reposing here, and in the aisles beyond 
Traceably gliding through the dusk, recal 
To mind the living presences of nuns ; 
A gentle, pensive, white-robed sisterhood, 45 

Whose saintly radiance mitigates the gloom 
Of those terrestial fabrics, where they serve, 
To Christ, the Sun of righteousness, espoused. 

19 The loose rocks, and along . . . edge MS. 34 spacious] wide -spread 

MS. 37 Her sylvan temples, fearless for the work, MS. 46 gentle] 
saintly MS. 46 Whose radiance mitigates the shady gloom MS. 47 
fabrics] mansions MS. 


Now also shall the page of classic lore, 
To these glad eyes from bondage freed, again 50 

Lie open ; and the book of Holy writ, 
Again unfolded, passage clear shall yield 
To heights more glorious still, and into shades 
More awful, where, advancing hand in hand, 
We may be taught, O Darling of my care 1 55 

To calm the affections, elevate the soul, 
And consecrate our lives to truth and love. 


MAY, 1817 
[Composed May, 1817. Published 1820.] 


AN age hath been when Earth was proud 
Of lustre too intense 
To be sustained ; and Mortals bowed 
The front in self-defence. 

Who then, if Dian's crescent gleamed, 5 

Or Cupid's sparkling arrow streamed 
While on the wing the Urchin played, 
Could fearlessly approach the shade ? 
Enough for one soft vernal day, 
If I, a bard of ebbing time, 10 

And nurtured in a fickle clime, 
May haunt this horned bay ; 
Whose amorous water multiplies 
The flitting halcyon's vivid dyes ; 

49-65 So 1827: 

Re-open now thy everlasting gates, 

Thou Fane of Holy Writ! Ye classic Domes, 

To these glad orbs from darksome bondage freed, 

Unfold again your portals ! Passage lies 

Through you to heights more glorious still, and shades 

More awful, where this Darling of my care, 

Advancing with me hand in hand, may learn, 

Without forsaking a too earnest world, 1820 so MS. but for 

last three lines: 

. . . where this Novice, of my hopes 

The sunbeam, darling of my care, with whom 

I now am free to enter hand in hand 

Cheared by the sound of tuneful harps, may learn 

Without forsaking . . . 
57 our lives 1827: her life MS., 1820 


And smooths her liquid breast to show 15 

These swan-like specks of mountain snow, 
White as the pair that slid along the plains 
Of heaven, when Venus held the reins ! 


In youth we love the darksome lawn 
Brushed by the owlet's wing ; 20 

Then, Twilight is preferred to Dawn, 
And Autumn to the Spring. 
Sad fancies do we then affect, 
In luxury of disrespect 

To our own prodigal excess 25 

Of too familiar happiness. 
Lycoris (if such name befit 
Thee, thee my life's celestial sign!) 
When Nature marks the year's decline, 
Be ours to welcome it ; 30 

Pleased with the harvest hope that runs 
Before the path of milder suns ; 
Pleased while the sylvan world displays 
Its ripeness to the feeding gaze ; 

Pleased when the sullen winds resound the knell 35 
Of the resplendent miracle. 


But something whispers to my heart 
That, as we downward tend, 
Lycoris ! life requires an art 

To which our souls must bend ; 40 

A skill to balance and supply ; 
And, ere the flowing fount be dry, 
As soon it must, a sense to sip, 
Or drink, with no fastidious lip. 

Then welcome, above all, the Guest 45 

Whose smiles, diffused o'er land and sea, 
Seem to recal the Deity 
Of youth into the breast : 

XXV. 15 her 1827: its 1820 

31-2 so 1827: Pleased with the soil's requited cares; 

Pleased with the blue that ether wears; 1820 
45-8 so 1827: Frank greeting, then, to that blithe Guest 

Diffusing smiles o'er land and sea 

To aid the vernal Deity 

Whose home is in the breast! 1820 


May pensive Autumn ne'er present 

A claim to her disparagement ! 5 

While blossoms and the budding spray 

Inspire us in our own decay ; 

Still, as we nearer draw to life's dark goal, 

Be hopeful Spring the favourite of the Soul ! 



[Composed, as a whole, 1817. Published 1820.] 

ENOUGH of climbing toil ! Ambition treads 

Here, as 'mid busier scenes, ground steep and rough, 

Or slippery even to peril ! and each step, 

As we for most uncertain recompence 

Mount toward the empire of the fickle clouds, 5 

Each weary step, dwarfing the world below, 

Induces, for its old familiar sights, 

Unacceptable feelings of contempt, 

With wonder mixed that Man could e'er be tied, 

In anxious bondage, to such nice array 10 

And formal fellowship of petty things ! 

Oh ! 'tis the heart that magnifies this life, 

Making a truth and beauty of her own ; 

And moss-grown alleys, circumscribing shades, 

And gurgling rills, assist her in the work 15 

XXVI. 2 As in the sphere of courts MS.; 'mid 1827: in 1820 3 so 
1827: Oft perilous, always tiresome; MS., 1820 4-6 recompence . . . 

step 1827: gain ascend Towards the clouds, 1820 
4-10 . . . gain ascend, 

Dwindling, the old familiar world below 
Induces stealthy feelings of contempt 
With wonder, that our hearts could e'er be tied 
By anxious interest to such nice array MS. 

14-16 No, if she be not wanting to herself Do moss-grown . . . Less 
efficaciously C 

14-42 And low-brow'd cell and circumscribing shades 
Such as surround us here assist the work. 
Come let me see thee sink etc. MS. 1 
15-42 Such as do now surround us, aid her more 
In the blest work than tower'd Palace high 
Far blazing as if built of fire : or pomp 
Of sea and land contending for regard 
Of the lone Shepherd on the mountain top 
While he perchance following some humble quest 


More efficaciously than realms outspread, 
As in a map, before the adventurer's gaze 
Ocean and Earth contending for regard. 

The umbrageous woods are left how far beneath ! 
But lo ! where darkness seems to guard the mouth 20 

Of yon wild cave, whose jagged brows are fringed 
With flaccid threads of ivy, in the still 
And sultry air, depending motionless. 
Yet cool the space within, and not uncheered 
(As whoso enters shall ere long perceive) 25 

By stealthy influx of the timid day 
Mingling with night, such twilight to compose 
As Numa loved ; when, in the Egerian grot, 
From the sage Nymph appearing at his wish, 
He gained whate'er a regal mind might ask, 30 

Or need, of counsel breathed through lips divine. 

Long as the heat shall rage, let that dim cave 
Protect us, there deciphering as we may 
Diluvian records ; or the sighs of Earth 
Interpreting ; or counting for old Time 35 

His minutes, by reiterated drops, 
Audible tears, from some invisible source 
That deepens upon fancy more and more 
Drawn toward the centre whence those sighs creep forth 
To awe the lightness of humanity. 40 

Or, shutting up thyself within thyself, 
There let me see thee sink into a mood 
Of gentler thought, protracted till thine eye 
Be calm as water when the winds are gone, 
And no one can tell whither. Dearest Friend ! 45 

Of both is heedless. Rather, would I gaze 

On a small flower, retaining at my feet 

Its long-loved aspect than become the sport 

Of transmutations taking more away 

Than they can give in recompense. Rest here 

And let me see thee sink etc. MS., 2 

19-42 so 1827: Lo! there a dim Egerian grotto fringed 

With ivy -twine, profusely from its brows 
Dependant, enter without further aim ; 
And let me etc. 1820 

32-61 For earlier drafts v. notes 43 gentler 1827: quiet 1820 

917.17 IV H 


We two have known such happy hours together 

That, were power granted to replace them (fetched 

From out the pensive shadows where they lie) 

In the first warmth of their original sunshine, 

Loth should I be to use it : passing sweet 50 

Are the domains of tender memory ! 


[Composed September, 1819. Published 1820.] 

THE sylvan slopes with corn- clad fields 

Are hung, as if with golden shields, 

Bright trophies of the sun ! 

Like a fair sister of the sky, 

Unruffled doth the blue lake lie, 5 

The mountains looking on. 

And, sooth to say, yon vocal grove, 

Albeit uninspired by love, 

By love untaught to ring, 

May well afford to mortal ear 10 

An impulse more profoundly dear 

Than music of the Spring. 

For that from turbulence and heat 

Proceeds, from some uneasy seat 

In nature's struggling frame, 15 

Some region of impatient life : 

And jealousy, and quivering strife, 

Therein a portion claim. 

This, this is holy ; while I hear 

These vespers of another year, 20 

This hymn of thanks and praise, 

My spirit seems to mount above 

The anxieties of human love, 

And earth's precarious days. 

46 two MSS. 1820-43: too 1846-50 happy] blissful MSS. 51 tender] 

pensive MS. 

XXVII. 2 as if with] that show like MS. 7 vocal] tuneful MS. 


But list ! though winter storms be nigh, 25 

Unchecked is that soft harmony : 

There lives Who can provide 

For all His creatures ; and in Him, 

Even like the radiant Seraphim, 

These choristers confide. 3 


[Composed September, 1819. Published 1820.] 

DEPABTING summer hath assumed 

An aspect tenderly illumed, 

The gentlest look of spring ; 

That calls from yonder leafy shade 

Unfaded, yet prepared to fade, 5 

A timely carolling. 

No faint and hesitating trill, 

Such tribute as to winter chill 

The lonely redbreast pays ! 

Clear, loud, and lively is the din, 10 

From social warblers gathering in 

Their harvest of sweet lays. 

Nor doth the example fail to cheer 

Me, conscious that my leaf is sere, 

And yellow on the bough: 15 

Fall, rosy garlands, from my head ! 

Ye myrtle wreaths, your fragrance shed 

Around a younger brow ! 

Yet will I temperately rejoice ; 

Wide is the range, and free the choice 20 

Of undiscordant themes ; 

Which, haply, kindred souls may prize 

Not less than vernal ecstasies, 

And passion's feverish dreams. 

XXVIII. 6 timely] tuneful MS. 
17-18 Your flowers, ye wreaths of myrtle shed, 
Ye cannot keep them now. MS. 


For deathless powers to verse belong, 25 

And they like Demi-gods are strong 

On whom the Muses smile ; 

But some their function have disclaimed, 

Best pleased with what is aptliest framed 

To enervate and defile. 30 

Not such the initiatory strains 

Committed to the silent plains 

In Britain's earliest dawn : 

Trembled the groves, the stars grew pale, 

While all-too-daringly the veil 35 

Of nature was withdrawn ! 

Nor such the spirit-stirring note 

When the live chords Alcseus smote, 

Inflamed by sense of wrong ; 

Woe ! woe to Tyrants ! from the lyre 40 

Broke threateningly, in sparkles dire 

Of fierce vindictive song. 

And not unhallowed was the page 

By winged Love inscribed, to assuage 

The pangs of vain pursuit ; 45 

Love listening while the Lesbian Maid 

With finest touch of passion swayed 

Her own ^Eolian lute. 

O ye, who patiently explore 

The wreck of Herculanean lore, 50 

What rapture ! could ye seize 

Some Theban fragment, or unroll 

One precious, tender-hearted, scroll 

Of pure Simonides. 

28 function] Patrons MS. 

30/1 And surely of the (tuneful) industrious band 

Who spread along their native land (Whose filmy verse o'er spreads 
the land) 

The (With) snares of soft desire 

There are who might be taught to spurn 

The task, more clearly to discern, 

More nobly to aspire. MS. 
47 With passion's fervent finger swayed MS. 64 pure] sweet MS. 


That were, indeed, a genuine birth 55 

Of poesy ; a bursting forth 

Of genius from the dust : 

What Horace gloried to behold, 

What Maro loved, shall we enfold ? 

Can haughty Time be just! 60 


[Composed 1823. Published 1827.] 

A PEN to register ; a key 
That winds through secret wards ; 
Are well assigned to Memory 
By allegoric Bards. 

As aptly, also, might be given 5 

A Pencil to her hand ; 
That, softening objects, sometimes even 
Outstrips the heart's demand ; 

That smoothes foregone distress, the lines 

Of lingering care subdues, 10 

Long- vanished happiness refines, 

And clothes in brighter hues ; 

Yet, like a tool of Fancy, works 

Those Spectres to dilate 

That startle Conscience, as she lurks 15 

Within her lonely seat. 

O ! that our lives, which flee so fast, 

In purity were such, 

That not an image of the past 

Should fear that pencil's touch ! 20 

Retirement then might hourly look 
Upon a soothing scene, 
Age steal to his allotted nook 
Contented and serene ; 

With heart as calm as lakes that sleep, 25 

In frosty moonlight glistening ; 

58 gloried] boasted MS. 


Or mountain rivers, where they creep 

Along a channel smooth and deep, 

To their own far-off murmurs listening. 


[Composed 1829. Published 1835.] 

THIS Lawn, a carpet all alive 

With shadows flung from leaves to strive 

In dance, amid a press 
Of sunshine, an apt emblem yields 
Of Worldlings revelling in the fields 5 

Of strenuous idleness ; 

Less quick the stir when tide and breeze 
Encounter, and to narrow seas 

Forbid a moment's rest ; 

The medley less when boreal Lights 10 

Glance to and fro, like aery Sprites 

To feats of arms addrest ! 

Yet, spite of all this eager strife, 
This ceaseless play, the genuine life 

That serves the stedfast hours, 15 

Is in the grass beneath, that grows 
Unheeded, and the mute repose 

Of sweetly -breathing flowers. 


[Composed 1829. Published 1835.] 

The Rocking-stones, alluded to in the beginning of the following verses, 
are supposed to have been used, by our British ancestors, both for 
judicial and religious purposes. Such stones are not uncommonly found, 
at this day, both in Great Britain and in Ireland. 

WHAT though the Accused, upon his own appeal 
To righteous Gods when man has ceased to feel, 
Or at a doubting Judge's stern command, 
Before the STONE OF POWER no longer stand 

XXX. 5 worldling revellers MSS. 

XXXI. 1-8 What though dislodged by purer faith, no more 

White -vested Priests the hallowed Oak adore 

Nor Seer nor Judge consult the Stone of Power ! MS. 


To take his sentence from the balanced Block, 5 

As, at his touch, it rocks, or seems to rock ; 

Though, in the depths of sunless groves, no more 

The Druid-priest the hallowed Oak adore ; 

Yet, for the Initiate, rocks and whispering trees 

Do still perform mysterious offices! 10 

And functions dwell in beast and bird that sway 

The reasoning mind, or with the fancy play, 

Inviting, at all seasons, ears and eyes 

To watch for undelusive auguries : 

Not uninspired appear their simplest ways ; 15 

Their voices mount symbolical of praise 

To mix with hymns that Spirits make and hear ; 

And to fallen man their innocence is dear. 

Enraptured Art draws from those sacred springs 

Streams that reflect the poetry of things ! 20 

Where Christian Martyrs stand in hues portrayed, 

That, might a wish avail, would never fade, 

Borne in their hands the lily and the palm 

Shed round the altar a celestial calm ; 

There, too, behold the lamb and guileless dove 25 

Prest in the tenderness of virgin love 

To saintly bosoms ! Glorious is the blending 

Of right affections climbing or descending 

Along a scale of light and life, with cares 

Alternate ; carrying holy thoughts and prayers 30 

Up to the sovereign seat of the Most High ; 

Descending to the worm in charity ; 

Like those good Angels whom a dream of night 

Gave, in the field of Luz, to Jacob's sight 

All, while he slept, treading the pendent stairs 35 

.1-14 And still in beast and bird a function dwells, 

That, while we look and listen, sometimes tells 

Upon the heart, in more authentic guise 

Than Oracles, or winged Auguries, 

Spake to the Science of the ancient Wise. MS., 1835 
6-17 Their voice ascends . . . Of hymns which blessed Spirits MS. 
9-20 not in MS. 21 Where Martyrs stand, or soar, MS. 
!2-3 That if a wish might save them, ne'er would fade 

The unspotted lilly, the victorious palm MS. 
;9 Along the scale of things, with ceaseless cares MS. 
14-5 Showed to the Patriarch, not in banded flight, 
But, treading, while he slept, the MS. 


Earthward or heavenward, radiant messengers, 

That, with a perfect will in one accord 

Of strict obedience, serve the Almighty Lord ; 

And with untired humility forbore 

To speed their errand by the wings they wore. 40 

What a fair world were ours for verse to paint, 
If Power could live at ease with self-restraint ! 
Opinion bow before the naked sense 
Of the great Vision, faith in Providence ; 
Merciful over all his creatures, just 45 

To the least particle of sentient dust ; 
But fixing by immutable decrees 
Seedtime and harvest for his purposes ! 
Then would be closed the restless oblique eye 
That looks for evil like a treacherous spy ; 50 

Disputes would then relax, like stormy winds 
That into breezes sink ; impetuous minds 
By discipline endeavour to grow meek 
As Truth herself, whom they profess to seek. 
Then Genius, shunning fellowship with Pride, 55 

Would braid his golden locks at Wisdom's side ; 
Love ebb and flow untroubled by caprice ; 
And not alone harsh tyranny would cease, 
But unoffending creatures find release 
From qualified oppression, whose defence 60 

Rests on a hollow plea of recompence ; 
Thought-tempered wrongs, for each humane respect 
Oft worse to bear, or deadlier in effect. 
Witness those glances of indignant scorn 
From some high-minded Slave, impelled to spurn 65 

The kindness that would make him less forlorn ; 
Or, if the soul to bondage be subdued, 
His look of pitiable gratitude ! 

Alas for thee, bright Galaxy of Isles, 

Whose day departs in pomp, returns with smiles 70 

To greet the flowers and fruitage of a land, 

38 serve 1845 : served 1836-43 40 so 1837 : The ready service of the 
wings MS., 1835 45 his creatures 1840: existence MS., 1835, 1837 
45-7 Compationate to all that suffer, just 

In the end to every creature born of dust C 

47-8 notinMB. 52 impetuous] and ardent MS. 70 Whose 1837: 
Where MS., 1835 


As the sun mounts, by sea-born breezes fanned ; 

A land whose ^zure mountain-tops are seats 

For Gods in council, whose green vales, retreats 

Fit for the shades of heroes, mingling there 75 

To breathe Elysian peace in upper air. 

Though cold as winter, gloomy as the grave, 
Stone-walls a prisoner make, but not a slave. 
Shall man assume a property in man ? 
Lay on the moral will a withering ban ? 80 

Shame that our laws at distance still protect 
Enormities, which they at home reject ! 
"Slaves cannot breathe in England'' yet that boast 
Is but a mockery ! when from coast to coast, 
Though fettered slave be none, her floors and soil 85 

Groan underneath a weight of slavish toil, 
For the poor Many, measured out by rules 
Fetched with cupidity from heartless schools, 
That to an Idol, falsely caUed "the Wealth 
Of Nations", sacrifice a People's health, 90 

Body and mind and soul ; a thirst so keen 
Is ever urging on the vast machine 
Of sleepless Labour, 'mid whose dizzy wheels 
The Power least prized is that which thinks and feels. 

Then, for the pastimes of this delicate age, 95 

And all the heavy or light vassalage 
Which for their sakes we fasten, as may suit 
Our varying moods, on human kind or brute, 
'Twere well in little, as in great, to pause, 
Lest Fancy trifle with eternal laws. 100 

Not from his fellows only man may learn 
Rights to compare and duties to discern ! 
All creatures and all objects, in degree, 
Are friends and patrons of humanity. 
There are to whom the garden, grove, and field, 105 

Perpetual lessons of forbearance yield ; 

81 still 1837: should MS., 1835 83-4 so 1837: a proud boast! And 
yet a mockery! if MS., 1835 89 to a monstrous Idol called C 

91 The weal of body mind and soul ; so keen 

A thirst is ever . . . C 
101-4 not in MS. : in 1835 they appear as a motto prefixed to the poem 


Who would not lightly violate the grace 

The lowliest flower possesses in its place ; 

Nor shorten the sweet life, too fugitive, 

Which nothing less than Infinite Power could give. no 


[Composed 1846. Published I860.] 

THE unremitting voice of nightly streams 

That wastes so oft, we think, its tuneful powers, 

If neither soothing to the worm that gleams 

Through dewy grass, nor small birds hushed in bowers, 

Nor unto silent leaves and drowsy flowers, 5 

That voice of unpretending harmony 

(For who what is shall measure by what seems 

To be, or not to be, 

Or tax high Heaven with prodigality ?) 

Wants not a healing influence that can creep 10 

Into the human breast, and mix with sleep 

To regulate the motion of our dreams 

XXXII. 1 unremitting . . . nightly] unsuspended . . . mountain MS. 1 2 
Where Nature seems to work with wasted powers MS. 1 ; That calls the 
breeze to modulate its powers MS. 2 3 That voice that soothes, perchance 
MS. 1 4 dewy] summer, (dusky) MSS. nor] and MSS. 5 

And lulls at dewy eve the shutting flowers MS. 1 6 not in MSS. 

7 For] Yet MSS. 

10-17 This has been known to mingle with the sleep (That voice, it has 
been known to mix with sleep) 

Of human kind, and regulate our dreams 

For kindly issues, as a knight too well (Once to how strange an issue 
he full well) 

Had learned, who scooped into a votive cell 

Yon rock impending from the shaggy steep 

That he in hermit's weeds therein might dwell 

For ever bound 

To the lone river's heart-controuling (spirit -soothing) sound (To one 
deep solemn) 

Why, let these words to simple Listeners tell. MS. 1 

That voice by night with healing power can creep 

Into the human heart or mix with sleep, 

As knew of yore the hermit in his cell 

Scooped out from rocky steep 

As all with gratitude can tell 

Who at this day mid Cumbrian mountains dwell. MS. 2 
11 breast] heart MS. 


For kindly issues as through every clime 

Was felt near murmuring brooks in earliest time ; 

As, at this day, the rudest swains who dwell 15 

Where torrents roar, or hear the tinkling knell 

Of water- breaks, with grateful heart could tell. 


[Composed 1829. Published 1835.] 

FLATTERED with promise of escape 

From every hurtful blast, 
Spring takes, O sprightly May ! thy shape, 

Her loveliest and her last. 

Less fair is summer riding high 5 

In fierce solstitial power, 
Less fair than when a lenient sky 

Brings on her parting hour. 

When earth repays with golden sheaves 

The labours of the plough, 10 

And ripening fruits and forest leaves 
All brighten on the bough ; 

What pensive beauty autumn shows, 

Before she hears the sound 
Of winter rushing in, to close 15 

The emblematic round ! 

Such be our Spring, our Summer such ; 

So may our Autumn blend 
With hoary Winter, and Life touch, 

Through heaven-born hope, her end ! 20 


[Composed March, 1833. Published 1835.] 

"Turn porro puer, ut saevis projectus ab undis 
Navita, nudus humi jacet," &c. LUCBETITTS. 

LIKE a shipwreck'd Sailor tost 

By rough waves on a perilous coast, 

Lies the Babe, in helplessness 



And in tenderest nakedness, 

Flung by labouring Nature forth 5 

Upon the mercies of the earth. 

Can its eyes beseech ? no more 

Than the hands are free to implore : 

Voice but serves for one brief cry ; 

Plaint was it ? or prophecy 10 

Of sorrow that will surely come ? 

Omen of man's grievous doom ! 

But, O Mother ! by the close 
Duly granted to thy throes ; 

By the silent thanks, now tending 15 

Incense-like to Heaven, descending 
Now to mingle and to move 
With the gush of earthly love, 
As a debt to that frail Creature, 
Instrument of struggling Nature 20 

For the blissful calm, the peace 
Known but to this one release 
Can the pitying spirit doubt 
That for human-kind springs out 
From the penalty a sense 25 

Of more than mortal recompence ? 

As a floating summer cloud, 
Though of gorgeous drapery proud, 
To the sun-burnt traveller, 

Or the stooping labourer, 30 

Oft-times makes its bounty known 
By its shadow round him thrown ; 
So, by chequerings of sad cheer, 
Heavenly Guardians, brooding near, 
Of their presence tell too bright 35 

Haply for corporeal sight ! 
Ministers of grace divine 
Feelingly their brows incline 
O'er this seeming Castaway 

Breathing, in the light of day, 40 

Something like the faintest breath 
That has power to baffle death 
Beautiful, while very weakness 
Captivates like passive meekness. 


And, sweet Mother ! under warrant 45 

Of the universal Parent, 
Who repays in season due 
Them who have, like thee, been true 
To the filial chain let down 

From his everlasting throne, 5 

Angels hovering round thy couch, 
With their softest whispers vouch, 
That whatever griefs may fret, 
Cares entangle, sins beset, 

This thy First-born, and with tears 55 

Stain her cheek in future years 
Heavenly succour, not denied 
To the babe, whate'er betide, 
Will to the woman be supplied ! 

Mother ! blest be thy calm ease ; 60 

Blest the starry promises, 
And the firmament benign 
Hallowed be it, where they shine! 
Yes, for them whose souls have scope 
Ample for a winged hope, 65 

And can earthward bend an ear 
For needful listening, pledge is here, 
That, if thy new-born Charge shall tread 
In thy footsteps, and be led 
By that other Guide, whose light 70 

Of manly virtues, mildly bright, 
Gave him first the wished-for part 
In thy gentle virgin heart ; 
Then, amid the storms of life 
Presignified by that dread strife 75 

Whence ye have escaped together, 
She may look for serene weather ; 
In all trials sure to find 
Comfort for a faithful mind ; 
Kindlier issues, holier rest, 80 

Than even now await her prest, 
Conscious Nursling, to thy breast! 




[Composed 1833. Published 1835.] 

LIST, the winds of March are blowing ; 

Her ground-flowers shrink, afraid of showing 

Their meek heads to the nipping air, 

Which ye feel not, happy pair ! 

Sunk into a kindly sleep. 5 

We, meanwhile, our hope will keep ; 

And if Time leagued with adverse Change 

(Too busy fear!) shall cross its range, 

Whatsoever check they bring, 

Anxious duty hindering, 10 

To like hope our prayers will cling. 

Thus, while the ruminating spirit feeds 
Upon the events of home as life proceeds, 
Affections pure and holy in their source 
Gain a fresh impulse, run a livelier course ; 15 

Hopes that within the Father's heart prevail, 
Are in the experienced Grandsire's slow to fail ; 
And if the harp pleased his gay youth, it rings 
To his grave touch with no unready strings, 
While thoughts press on, and feelings overflow, 20 

And quick words round him fall like flakes of snow. 

Thanks to the Powers that yet maintain their sway, 
And have renewed the tributary Lay, 
Truths of the heart flock in with eager pace, 
And FANCY greets them with a fond embrace ; 25 

Swift as the rising un his beams extends 
She shoots the tidings forth to distant friends ; 
Their gifts she hails (deemed precious, as they prove 
For the unconscious Babe so prompt a love!) 
But from this peaceful centre of delight 30 

Vague sympathies have urged her to take flight : 
Rapt into upper regions, like the bee 

XXXV. 11 like] that C 13 so 1837: Upon each home-event 1835 

23 Lay,] Lay. 1835 etc. 29 so prompt a 1843: anunbelated 1835-7: 
so prompt to 1840 and C 
31/2 She rivals the fleet Swallow, making rings 

In the smooth lake where'er he dips his wings ; 1835 


That sucks from mountain heath her honey fee, 

Or, like the warbling lark intent to shroud 

His head in sunbeams or a bowery cloud, 35 

She soars and here and there her pinions rest 

On proud towers, like this humble cottage, blest 

With a new visitant, an infant guest 

Towers where red streamers flout the breezy sky 

In pomp foreseen by her creative eye, 40 

When feasts shall crowd the hall, and steeple bells 

Glad proclamation make, and heights and dells 

Catch the blithe music as it sinks and swells, 

And harboured ships, whose pride is on the sea, 

Shall hoist their topmost flags in sign of glee, 45 

Honouring the hope of noble ancestry. 

But who (though neither reckoning ills assigned 
By Nature, nor reviewing in the mind 
The track that was, and is, and must be, worn 
With weary feet by all of woman born) 50 

Shall now by such a gift with joy be moved, 
Nor feel the fulness of that joy reproved ? 
Not He, whose last faint memory will command 
The truth that Britain was his native land ; 
Whose infant soul was tutored to confide 55 

In the cleansed faith for which her martyrs died ; 
Whose boyish ear the voice of her renown 
With rapture thrilled ; whose Youth revered the crown 
Of Saxon liberty that Alfred wore, 

Alfred, dear Babe, thy great Progenitor ! 60 

Not He, who from her mellowed practice drew 
His social sense of just, and fair, and true ; 
And saw, thereafter, on the soil of France 
Rash Polity begin her maniac dance, 

Foundations broken up, the deeps run wild, 65 

Nor grieved to see (himself not unbeguiled) 
Woke from the dream, the dreamer to upbraid, 
And learn how sanguine expectations fade 
When novel trusts by folly are betrayed, 
To see Presumption, turning pale, refrain 70 

From further havoc, but repent in vain, 

43 and 1837: or 1835 


Good aims lie down, and perish in the road 

Where guilt had urged them on with ceaseless goad, 

Proofs thickening round her that on public ends 

Domestic virtue vitally depends, 75 

That civic strife can turn the happiest hearth 

Into a grievous sore of self -tormenting earth. 

Can such a One, dear Babe ! though glad and proud 
To welcome thee, repel the fears that crowd 
Into his English breast, and spare to quake 80 

Less for his own than for thy innocent sake ? 
Too late or, should the providence of God 
Lead, through dark ways by sin and sorrow trod, 
Justice and peace to a secure abode, 

Too soon thou com'st into this breathing world ; 85 

Ensigns of mimic outrage are unfurled. 
Who shall preserve or prop the tottering Realm ? 
What hand suffice to govern the state-helm ? 
If, in the aims of men, the surest test 

Of good or bad (whate'er be sought for or profest) 90 

Lie in the means required, or ways ordained, 
For compassing the end, else never gained ; 
Yet governors and govern'd both are blind 
To this plain truth, or fling it to the wind ; 
If to expedience principle must bow ; 95 

Past, future, shrinking up beneath the incumbent Now ; 
If cowardly concession still must feed 

74r-6 so 1840: Till undiscriminating Ruin swept 

The Land, and Wrong perpetual vigil kept ; 
With proof before her that etc. 1836-7 
76-7 1840: not in 1835, 1837: 

And civic strife, by hourly calling forth 
Mutual despite can turn the happiest hearth 
I (Thanks to the coming phrase) into a hell on earth 
\ Into a rankling sore of self -tormented earth C 
81 so 1840: Not for his own, but 1835-7 
824 Too late or sent too early, for fast bound 

To endless cycle good and ill turn round MS. 
83 dark 1840: blind 1835-7 

88 How save the good old Ship whose luckless helm 
88/9 A Pilot grasps that plays the tyrant's part 
Storm raising after storm with treacherous art 
If to confound the remnant of the crew 
Who yet are sane in mind in spirit true, MS. 


The thirst for power in men who ne'er concede ; 

Nor turn aside, unless to shape a way 

For domination at some riper day ; 100 

If generous Loyalty must stand in awe 

Of subtle Treason, in his mask of law, 

Or with bravado insolent and hard, 

Provoking punishment, to win reward ; 

If office help the factious to conspire, 105 

And they who should extinguish, fan the fire 

Then, will the sceptre be a straw, the crown 

Sit loosely, like the thistle's crest of down ; 

To be blown off at will, by Power that spares it 

In cunning patience, from the head that wears it. no 

Lost people, trained to theoretic feud ! 
Lost above all, ye labouring multitude ! 
Bewildered whether ye, by slanderous tongues 
Deceived, mistake calamities for wrongs ; 
And over fancied usurpations brood, 115 

Oft snapping at revenge in sullen mood ; 
Or, from long stress of real injuries fly 
To desperation for a remedy ; 

In bursts of outrage spread your judgments wide, 
And to your wrath cry out, "Be thou our guide ;" 120 

Or, bound by oaths, come forth to tread earth's floor 
In marshalled thousands, darkening street and moor 
With the worst shape mock-patience ever wore ; 
Or, to the giddy top of self-esteem 

By Flatterers carried, mount into a dream 125 

Of boundless suffrage, at whose sage behest 
Justice shall rule, disorder be supprest, 
And every man sit down as Plenty's Guest ! 
O for a bridle bitted with remorse 

To stop your Leaders in their headstrong course ! 130 

Oh may the Almighty scatter with His grace 
These mists, and lead you to a safer place, 
By paths no human wisdom can foretrace ! 
May He pour round you, from worlds far above 
Man's feverish passions, His pure light of love, 135 

That quietly restores the natural mien 
To hope, and makes truth willing to be seen ! 

102 in 1837: with 1835 

017.17 IV I 


Else shall your blood-stained hands in frenzy reap 

Fields gaily sown when promises were cheap 

Why is the Past belied with wicked art, 14 

The Future made to play so false a part, 

Among a people famed for strength of mind, 

Foremost in freedom, noblest of mankind ? 

We act as if we joyed in the sad tune 

Storms make in rising, valued in the moon 145 

Nought but her changes. Thus, ungrateful Nation! 

If thou persist, and, scorning moderation, 

Spread for thyself the snares of tribulation, 

Whom, then, shall meekness guard ? What savage skill 

Lie in forbearance, strength in standing still ? 150 

Soon shall the widow (for the speed of Time 

Nought equals when the hours are winged with crime) 

Widow, or wife, implore on tremulous knee, 

From him who judged her lord, a like decree ; 

The skies will weep o'er old men desolate ; 155 

Ye little-ones ! Earth shudders at your fate, 

Outcasts and homeless orphans 

But turn, my Soul, and from the sleeping pair 
Learn thou the beauty of omniscient care ! 
Be strong in faith, bid anxious thoughts lie still ; 160 

Seek for the good and cherish it the ill 
Oppose, or bear with a submissive will. 


("Composed Dec, 5, 1833. Published 1835.] 

IF this j^reat world of joy and pain 

Revolve in one sure track ; 
If freedom, set, will rise again, 

And virtue, flown, come back ; 
Woe to the purblind crew who fill 

The heart with each day's care ; 
Nor gain, from past or future, skill 

To bear, and to forbear ! 

141-2 Why plays Futurity this shameless part 

To cheat MS. 
XXXVI. 7 gain] learn MS. 



[Composed 1834. Published 1835.] 

UP to the throne of God is borne 
The voice of praise at early morn, 
And he accepts the punctual hymn 
Sung as the light of day grows dim. 

Nor will he turn his ear aside 5 

From holy offerings at noontide. 
Then here reposing let us raise 
A song of gratitude and praise. 

What though our burthen be not light, 

We need not toil from morn to night ; 10 

The respite of the mid-day hour 

Is in the thankful Creature's power. 

Blest are the moments, doubly blest, 

That, drawn from this one hour of rest, 

Are with a ready heart bestowed 15 

Upon the service of our God ! 

Each field is then a hallowed spot, 

An altar is in each man's cot, 

A church in every grove that spreads 

Its living roof above our heads. 20 

Look up to Heaven ! the industrious Sun 
Already half his race hath run ; 
He cannot halt nor go astray, 
But our immortal Spirits may. 

Lord ! since his rising in the East, 25 

If we have faltered or transgressed, 
Guide, from thy love's abundant source, 
What yet remains of this day's course : 

Help with thy grace, through life's short day, 

Our upward and our downward way ; 30 

And glorify for us the west, 

Where we shall sink to final rest. 

XXXVII. 17 so 1845: Why should we crave a 1836-43 



[Composed 1826. Published 1835.] 

WHILE from the purpling east departs 

The star that led the dawn, 
Blithe Flora from her couch upstarts, 

For May is on the lawn. 
A quickening hope, a freshening glee, 5 

Foreran the expected Power, 
Whose first-drawn breath, from bush and tree, 

Shakes off that pearly shower. 

All Nature welcomes Her whose sway 

Tempers the year's extremes ; 10 

Who scattereth lustres o'er noon-day, 

Like morning's dewy gleams ; 
While mellow warble, sprightly trill, 

The tremulous heart excite ; 
And hums the balmy air to still 15 

The balance of delight. 

Time was, blest Power ! when youths and maids 

At peep of dawn would rise, 
And wander forth, in forest glades 

Thy birth to solemnize. 20 

Though mute the song to grace the rite 

Untouched the hawthorn bough, 
Thy Spirit triumphs o'er the slight ; 

Man changes, but not Thou ! 

Thy feathered Lieges bill and wings 25 

In love's disport employ ; 
Warmed by thy influence, creeping things 

Awake to silent joy: 
Queen art thou still for each gay plant 

XXXVIII. 8/9 Here follows XXXIX 17-24 MS. 
0-11 What month can rival thee, sweet May, 
Tempering . . . And scattering . . . MS. 

11 And breathes a freshness o'er MS. 1 15 And a soothing hum prevails. 
MS. 1 17 blest Power! when] when courtly MS. 18 peep] blush MSS. 
19 in forest] blest Power! in MS. 


Where the slim wild deer roves ; 3 

And served in depths where fishes haunt 

Their own mysterious groves. 
Cloud-piercing peak, and trackless heath, 

Instinctive homage pay ; 
Nor wants the dim-lit cave a wreath 35 

To honour thee, sweet May ! 
Where cities fanned by thy brisk airs 

Behold a smokeless sky, 
Their puniest flower-pot-nursling dares 

To open a bright eye. 4 

And if, on this thy natal morn, 

The pole, from which thy name 
Hath not departed, stands forlorn 

Of song and dance and game ; 
Still from the village-green a vow 45 

Aspires to thee addrest, 
Wherever peace is on the brow, 

Or love within the breast. 
Yes ! where Love nestles thou canst teach 

The soul to love the more ; 5 

Hearts also shall thy lessons reach 

That never loved before. 
Stript is the haughty one of pride, 

The bashful freed from fear, 
While rising, like the ocean-tide, 55 

In flows the joyous year. 

Hush, feeble lyre ! weak words refuse 

The service to prolong ! 
To yon exulting thrush the Muse 

Entrusts the imperfect song ; 60 

His voice shall chant, in accents clear, 

Throughout the live-long day, 
Till the first silver star appear, 

The sovereignty of May. 

33 trackless] desart MS. 34 homage] tribute MSS. 

3740 But most some little favorite nook 

That our own hands have drest 

Upon thy train delights to look 

And seems to love thee best. MSS. v. To May XXXIX. 45-8 infra 
41 And what if on thy birthday MS. 63 The haughty Ones are stripped 




[Composed 1826-34. Published 1835.] 

THOUGH many suns have risen and set 

Since thou, blithe May, wert born, 
And Bards, who hailed thee, may forget 

Thy gifts, thy beauty scorn ; 
There are who to a birthday strain 5 

Confine not harp and voice, 
But evermore throughout thy reign 

Are grateful and rejoice! 

Delicious odours ! music sweet, 

Too sweet to pass away! 10 

Oh for a deathless song to meet 

The soul's desire a lay 
That, when a thousand years are told, 

Should praise thee, genial Power ! 
Through summer heat, autumnal cold, 15 

And winter's dreariest hour. 

Earth, sea, thy presence feel nor less, 

If yon ethereal blue 
With its soft smile the truth express, 

The heavens have felt it too. 20 

The inmost heart of man if glad 

Partakes a livelier cheer ; 
And eyes that cannot but be sad 

Let fall a brightened tear. 

Since thy return, through days and weeks 25 

Of hope that grew by stealth, 
How many wan and faded cheeks 

Have kindled into health ! 
The Old, by thee revived, have said, 

"Another year is ours ;" 30 

And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed, 

Have smiled upon thy flowers. 

XXXIX. 1 many] twelve bright MS. 5 birthday] natal MS. 11 
meet] greet MS. 12 The soul's desire] Thy blest return MS. 17- 
24 not in MS. 31-2 Perhaps the [And many a] poor man wanting 

bread Has MS. 


Who tripping lisps a merry song 

Amid his playful peers ? 
The tender Infant who was long 35 

A prisoner of fond fears ; 
But now, when every sharp-edged blast 

Is quiet in its sheath, 
His Mother leaves him free to taste 

Earth's sweetness in thy breath. 40 

Thy help is with the weed that creeps 

Along the humblest ground ; 
No cliff so bare but on its steeps 

Thy favours may be found ; 
But most on some peculiar nook 45 

That our own hands have drest, 
Thou and thy train are proud to look, 

And seem to love it best. 

And yet how pleased we wander forth 

When May is whispering, "Come! 50 

Choose from the bowers of virgin earth 

The happiest for your home ; 
Heaven's bounteous love through me is spread 

From sunshine, clouds, winds, waves, 
Drops on the mouldering turret's head, 55 

And on your turf-clad graves!" 

Such greeting heard, away with sighs 

For lilies that must fade, 
Or "the rathe primrose as it dies 

Forsaken" in the shade ! 60 

Vernal fruitions and desires 

Are linked in endless chase ; 
While, as one kindly growth retires, 

Another takes its place. 

And what if thou, sweet May, hast known 65 

Mishap by worm and blight ; 
If expectations newly blown 

Have perished in thy sight ; 

61-2 In every bower of ... Is built a happy MS. 65-6 And if, sweet 
May, thy hopes have known Mishap from MS. 


If loves and joys, while up they sprung, 

Were caught as in a snare ; 70 

Such is the lot of all the young, 
However bright and fair. 

Lo ! Streams that April could not check 

Are patient of thy rule ; 
Gurgling in foamy water-break, 75 

Loitering in glassy pool : 
By thee, thee only, could be sent 

Such gentle mists as glide, 
Curling with unconfirmed intent, 

On that green mountain's side. 80 

How delicate the leafy veil 

Through which yon house of God 
Gleams 'mid the peace of this deep dale 

By few but shepherds trod ! 
And lowly huts, near beaten ways, 85 

No sooner stand attired 
In thy fresh wreaths, than they for praise 

Peep forth, and are admired. 

Season of fancy and of hope, 

Permit not for one hour 90 

A blossom from thy crown to drop, 

Nor add to it a flower ! 
Keep, lovely May, as if by touch 

Of self-restraining art, 
This modest charm of not too much, 95 

Part seen, imagined part ! 


[Composed 1834. Published 1835.] 

BEGUILED into forgetfulness of care 
Due to the day's unfinished task ; of pen 
Or book regardless, and of that fair scene 

72 The doom of all the MS. 81 the] a MS. 82 Through which 

yon] To grace (Half hides) the MS. 83 Hast thou renewed (Thy 

network wov'n) in MS. 93 So perfect now is that fine touch MS. 


In Nature's prodigality displayed 

Before my window, oftentimes and long 5 

I gaze upon a Portrait whose mild gleam 

Of beauty never ceases to enrich 

The common light ; whose stillness charms the air, 

Or seems to charm it, into like repose ; 

Whose silence, for the pleasure of the ear, 10 

Surpasses sweetest music. There she sits 

With emblematic purity attired 

In a white vest, white as her marble neck 

Is, and the pillar of the throat would be 

But for the shadow by the drooping chin 15 

Cast into that recess the tender shade, 

The shade and light, both there and everywhere, 

And through the very atmosphere she breathes, 

Broad, clear, and toned harmoniously, with skill 

That might from nature have been learnt in the hour 20 

When the lone shepherd sees the morning spread 

Upon the mountains. Look at her, whoe'er 

Thou be that, kindling with a poet's soul, 

Hast loved the painter's true Promethean craft 

Intensely from Imagination take 25 

The treasure, what mine eyes behold see thou, 

Even though the Atlantic ocean roll between. 

A silver line, that runs from brow to crown 
And in the middle parts the braided hair, 
Just serves to show how delicate a soil 30 

The golden harvest grows in ; and those eyes, 
Soft and capacious as a cloudless sky 
Whose azure depth their colour emulates, 
Must needs be conversant with upward looks, 
Prayer's voiceless service ; but now, seeking nought 35 

And shunning nought, their own peculiar life 
Of motion they renounce, and with the head 
Partake its inclination towards earth 
In humble grace, and quiet pensiveness 
Caught at the point where it stops short of sadness. 40 

Offspring of soul-bewitching Art, make me 
Thy confidant ! say, whence derived that air 
Of calm abstraction ? Can the ruling thought 
23-4 Thou be that lov'st the Painter's subtle craft MS. 


Be with some lover far away, or one 

Crossed by misfortune, or of doubted faith ? 45 

Inapt conjecture ! Childhood here, a moon 

Crescent in simple loveliness serene, 

Has but approached the gates of womanhood, 

Not entered them ; her heart is yet unpierced 

By the blind Archer-god ; her fancy free : 50 

The fount of feeling, if unsought elsewhere, 

Will not be found. 

Her right hand, as it lies 
Across the slender wrist of the left arm 
Upon her lap reposing, holds but mark 
How slackly, for the absent mind permits 55 

No firmer grasp a little wild-flower, joined 
As in a posy, with a few pale ears 
Of yellowing corn, the same that overtopped 
And in their common birthplace sheltered it 
Till they were plucked together ; a blue flower 60 

Called by the thrifty husbandman a weed ; 
But Ceres, in her garland, might have worn 
That ornament, unblamed. The floweret, held 
In scarcely conscious fingers, was, she knows, 
(Her Father told her so) in youth's gay dawn 65 

Her Mother's favourite ; and the orphan Girl, 
In her own dawn a dawn less gay and bright, 
Loves it, while there in solitary peace 
She sits, for that departed Mother's sake. 
Not from a source less sacred is derived 70 

(Surely I do not err) that pensive air 
Of calm abstraction through the face diffused 
And the whole person. 

Words have something told 
More than the pencil can, and verily 

More than is needed, but the precious Art 75 

Forgives their interference Art divine, 
That both creates and fixes, in despite 
Of Death and Time, the marvels it hath wrought. 

Strange contrasts have we in this world of ours ! 
That posture, and the look of filial love 80 

Thinking of past and gone, with what is left 
Dearly united, might be swept away 


From this fair Portrait's fleshly Archetype, 

Even by an innocent fancy's slightest freak 

Banished, nor ever, haply, be restored 85 

To their lost place, or meet in harmony 

So exquisite ; but here do they abide, 

Enshrined for ages. Is not then the Art 

Godlike, a humble branch of the divine, 

In visible quest of immortality, 90 

Stretched forth with trembling hope ? In every realm, 

From high Gibraltar to Siberian plains, 

Thousands, in each variety of tongue 

That Europe knows, would echo this appeal ; 

One above all, a Monk who waits on God 95 

In the magnific Convent built of yore 

To sanctify the Escurial palace. He 

Guiding, from cell to cell and room to room, 

A British Painter (eminent for truth 

In character, and depth of feeling, shown 100 

By labours that have touched the hearts of kings, 

And are endeared to simple cottagers) 

Came, in that service, to a glorious work, 

Our Lord's Last Supper, beautiful as when first 

The appropriate Picture, fresh from Titian's hand, 105 

Graced the Refectory: and there, while both 

Stood with eyes fixed upon that masterpiece, 

The hoary Father in the Stranger's ear 

Breathed out these words: "Here daily do we sit, 

Thanks given to God for daily bread, and here no 

Pondering the mischiefs of these restless times, 

And thinking of my Brethren, dead, dispersed, 

Or changed and changing, I not seldom gaze 

Upon this solemn Company unmoved 

By shock of circumstance, or lapse of years, 115 

Until I cannot but believe that they 

They are in truth the Substance, we the Shadows." 

So spake the mild Jeronymite, his griefs 
Melting away within him like a dream 
Ere he had ceased to gaze, perhaps to speak: 120 

And I, grown old, but in a happier land, 

103 so 1837: Left not unvisited a MS., 1835 106-7 and . . . master- 

piece] There while the eyes Of both upon that Masterpiece were fixed MS. 


Domestic Portrait ! have to verse consigned 

In thy calm presence those heart-moving words : 

Words that can soothe, more than they agitate ; 

Whose spirit, like the angel that went down 125 

Into Bethesda's pool, with healing virtue 

Informs the fountain in the human breast 

Which by the visitation was disturbed. 

But why this stealing tear ? Companion mute, 

On thee I look, not sorrowing ; fare thee well, 130 

My Song's Inspirer, once again farewell! 1 


[Composed 1834. Published 1835.] 

AMONG a grave fraternity of Monks, 

For One, but surely not for One alone, 

Triumphs, in that great work, the Painter's skill, 

Humbling the body, to exalt the soul ; 

Yet representing, amid wreck and wrong 5 

And dissolution and decay, the warm 

And breathing life of flesh, as if already 

Clothed with impassive majesty, and graced 

With no mean earnest of a heritage 

Assigned to it in future worlds. Thou, too, 10 

With thy memorial flower, meek Portraiture ! 

From whose serene companionship I passed, 

Pursued by thoughts that haunt me still ; thou also 

Though but a simple object, into light 

Called forth by those affections that endear 15 

Thy private hearth ; though keeping thy sole seat 

In singleness, and little tried by time, 

Creation, as it were, of yesterday 

1 The pile of buildings composing the palace and convent of San Lorenzo 
has, in common usage, lost its proper name in that of the Escurial, a village 
at the foot of the hill upon which the splendid edifice, built by Philip the 
Second, stands. It need scarcely be added that Wilkie is the painter 
alluded to. 

124-30 Added to MS. on separate sheet 128 Which 1837: That 1835 

131 And now, my Song's Inspirer, fare thee well. MS. 
XLI. 4 MS. omits 6 Yet] By MS. 8-9 Clothed with a portion 

of the inheritance MS. 


With a congenial function art endued 

For each and all of us, together joined 20 

In course of nature under a low roof 

By charities and duties that proceed 

Out of the bosom of a wiser vow. 

To a like salutary sense of awe 

Or sacred wonder, growing with the power 25 

Of meditation that attempts to weigh, 

In faithful scales, things and their opposites, 

Can thy enduring quiet gently raise 

A household small and sensitive, whose love, 

Dependent as in part its blessings are 30 

Upon frail ties dissolving or dissolved 

On earth, will be revived, we trust, in heaven. 1 


[Composed August, 1844. Published 1845.] 

So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive, 

Would that the little Flowers were born to live, 

Conscious of half the pleasure which they give ; 

That to this mountain-daisy's self were known 

The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown 5 

On the smooth surface of this naked stone ! 

And what if hence a bold desire should mount 
High as the Sun, that he could take account 
Of all that issues from his glorious fount ! 

So might he ken how by his sovereign aid 10 

These delicate companionships are made ; 
And how he rules the pomp of light and shade ; 

1 In the class entitled "Musings", in Mr. Southey's Minor Poems, is one 
upon his own miniature Picture, taken in childhood, and another upon a 
landscape painted by Caspar Poussin. It is possible that every word of the 
above verses, though similar in subject, might have been written had the 
author been unacquainted with those beautiful effusions of poetic sentiment. 
But, for his own satisfaction, he must be allowed thus publicly to acknow- 
ledge the pleasure those two Poems of his Friend have given him, and the 
grateful influence they have upon his mind as often as he reads them or 
thinks of them. 

XLII. C heads the poem Suggested at noon on Loughrigg Fell and alterna- 
tively To the noontide Sun 1 fair and C 6 Its sole companion on C 


And were the Sister-power that shines by night 

So privileged, what a countenance of delight 

Would through the clouds break forth on human sight ! 15 

Fond fancies ! wheresoe'er shall turn thine eye 
On earth, air, ocean, or the starry sky, 
Converse with Nature in pure sympathy ; 

All vain desires, all lawless wishes quelled, 

Be Thou to love and praise alike impelled, 20 

Whatever boon is granted or withheld. 



[Composed 1835-6. Published 1837.] 

WHO rashly strove thy Image to portray ? 

Thou buoyant minion of the tropic air ; 

How could he think of the live creature gay 

With a divinity of colours, drest 

In all her brightness, from the dancing crest 5 

Far as the last gleam of the filmy train 

Extended and extending to sustain 

The motions that it graces and forbear 

To drop his pencil ! Flowers of every clime 

Depicted on these pages smile at time ; 10 

And gorgeous insects copied with nice care 

Are here, and likenesses of many a shell 

Tossed ashore by restless waves, 

Or in the diver's grasp fetched up from caves 

Where sea-nymphs might be proud to dwell : 15 

But whose rash hand (again I ask) could dare, 

'Mid casual tokens and promiscuous shows, 

To circumscribe this Shape in fixed repose ; 

Could imitate for indolent survey, 

XLII. 16 turn] range MS. 

16-17 Fond fancies! bred between a smile and sigh 

Do thou more wise, where'er thou turn'st thine eye C 

(. . * wheresoever shall range thine eye 

Among the forms and powers of earth or sky) C 
19-20 A thankful heart, all lawless wishes quell'd, 

To joy, to praise, to love alike compelTd, C 


Perhaps for touch profane, 20 

Plumes that might catch, but cannot keep, a stain ; 
And, with cloud-streaks lightest and loftiest, share 
The sun's first greeting, his last farewell ray! 

Resplendent Wanderer ! followed with glad eyes 
Where'er her course ; mysterious Bird ! 25 

To whom, by wondering Fancy stirred, 
Eastern Islanders have given 
A holy name the Bird of Heaven! 
And even a title higher still, 

The Bird of God! whose blessed will 3 

She seems performing as she flies 
Over the earth and through the skies 
In never- wearied search of Paradise 
Region that crowns her beauty with the name 
She bears for us for us how blest, 35 

How happy at all seasons, could like aim 
Uphold our Spirits urged to kindred flight 
On wings that fear no glance of God's pure sight, 
No tempest from his breath, their promised rest 
Seeking with indefatigable quest 40 

Above a world that deems itself most wise 
When most enslaved by gross realities ! 



[Composed 1831. Published 1835.] 

"PEOPLE ! your chains are severing link by link ; 

Soon shall the Rich be levelled down the Poor 

Meet them half way." Vain boast! for These, the more 

They thus would rise, must low and lower sink 

Till, by repentance stung, they fear to think ; 5 

While all lie prostrate, save the tyrant few 

Bent in quick turns each other to undo, 

And mix the poison, they themselves must drink. 

Mistrust thyself, vain Country ! cease to cry, 

"Knowledge will save me from the threatened woe." 10 

For, if than other rash ones more thou know, 

Yet on presumptuous wing as far would fly 

Above thy knowledge as they dared to go, 

Thou wilt provoke a heavier penalty. 



[Composed 1832. Published 1832.] 
RELUCTANT call it was ; the rite delayed ; 
And in the Senate some there were who doffed 
The last of their humanity, and scoffed 
At providential judgments, undismayed 
By their own daring. But the People prayed 5 

As with one voice ; their flinty heart grew soft 
With penitential sorrow, and aloft 
Their spirit mounted, crying, "God us aid!" 
Oh that with aspirations more intense, 
Chastised by self-abasement more profound, 10 

This People, once so happy, so renowned 
For liberty, would seek from God defence 
Against far heavier ill, the pestilence 
Of revolution, impiously unbound ! 

I. 9 Proud country fear the worst, though millions cry MS 12 And 
yet from change to change MS. 

II. 4 judgments 1838: judgment 1832-7 9-10 so 1837: with soul- 
aspirings ... And heart -humiliations 1832 11 once 1837: long 1832 



[Composed 1838. Published: Sonnet- vol. of 1838.] 

SAID Secrecy to Cowardice and Fraud, 

Falsehood and Treachery, in close council met, 

Deep under ground, in Pluto's cabinet, 

"The frost of England's pride will soon be thawed ; 

Hooded the open brow that overawed 5 

Our schemes ; the faith and honour, never yet 

By us with hope encountered, be upset ; 

For once I burst my bands, and cry, applaud!" 

Then whispered she, "The Bill is carrying out!" 

They heard, and, starting up, the Brood of Night 10 

Clapped hands, and shook with glee their matted locks ; 

All Powers and Places that abhor the light 

Joined in the transport, echoed back their shout, 

Hurrah for , hugging his ballot-box ! 


[Composed 1838. Published: Sonnet-vol. of 1838.] 

BLEST Statesman He, whose Mind's unselfish will 

Leaves him at ease among grand thoughts : whose eye 

Sees that, apart from magnanimity, 

Wisdom exists not ; nor the humbler skill 

Of Prudence, disentangling good and ill 5 

With patient care. What tho' assaults run high, 

They daunt not him who holds his ministry, 

Resolute, at all hazards, to fulfil 

Its duties ; prompt to move, but firm to wait, 

Knowing, things rashly sought are rarely found ; 10 

That, for the functions of an ancient State 

Strong by her charters, free because imbound, 

Servant of Providence, not slave of Fate 

Perilous is sweeping change, all chance unsound. 

Hi. 14 ] Grote MS. 

IV. 2 him 1842: her C and 1838 6 though 1838: if C 11 for 
1838: in 14 "All change is perilous and all chance unsound" C 

017.17 IV K 



[Composed ?. Published: vol. of 1842.] 

PORTENTOUS change when History can appear 

As the cool Advocate of foul device ; 

Reckless audacity extol, and jeer 

At consciences perplexed with scruples nice ! 

They who bewail not, must abhor, the sneer 5 

Born of Conceit, Power's blind Idolater ; 

Or haply sprung from vaunting Cowardice 

Betrayed by mockery of holy fear. 

Hath it not long been said the wrath of Man 

Works not the righteousness of God ? Oh bend, 10 

Bend, ye Perverse! to judgments from on High, 

Laws that lay under Heaven's perpetual ban 

All principles of action that transcend 

The sacred limits of humanity. 


[Composed ?. Published: vol. of 1842.] 

WHO ponders National events shall find 

An awful balancing of loss and gain, 

Joy based on sorrow, good with ill combined, 

And proud deliverance issuing out of pain 

And direful throes ; as if the All-ruling Mind, 5 

With whose "perfection it consists to ordain 

Volcanic burst, earthquake, and hurricane, 

Dealt in like sort with feeble human kind 

By laws immutable. But woe for him 

Who thus deceived shall lend an eager hand 10 

To social havoc. Is not Conscience ours, 

And Truth, whose eye guilt only can make dim ; 

And Will, whose office, by divine command, 

Is to control and check disordered Powers ? 

V. 1-2 can leer 

With prurient levity on foul device MS. 



[Composed ?. Published: vol. of 1842.] 

LONG-FAVOURED England ! be not thou misled 

By monstrous theories of alien growth, 

Lest alien frenzy seize thee, waxing wroth. 

Self-smitten till thy garments reek dyed red 

With thy own blood, which tears in torrents shed 5 

Fail to wash out, tears flowing ere thy troth 

Be plighted, not to ease but sullen sloth, 

Or wan despair the ghost of false hope fled 

Into a shameful grave. Among thy youth, 

My Country! if such warning be held dear, 10 

Then shall a Veteran's heart be thrilled with joy, 

One who would gather from eternal truth, 

For time and season, rules that work to cheer 

Not scourge, to save the People not destroy. 


[Composed 1839. Published: vol. of 1842.] 

MEN of the Western World! in Fate's dark book 

Whence these opprobrious leaves of dire portent ? 

Think ye your British Ancestors forsook 

Their native Land, for outrage provident ; 

From unsubmissive necks the bridle shook 5 

To give, in their Descendants, freer vent 

And wider range to passions turbulent, 

To mutual tyranny a deadlier look ? 

Nay, said a voice, soft as the south wind's breath, 

Dive through the stormy surface of the flood 10 

To the great current flowing underneath ; 

Explore the countless springs of silent good ; 

So shall the truth be better understood, 

And thy grieved Spirit brighten strong in faith. 

VII. 9-11 If but one youth 

Thy Son, my Country ! hold this warning dear 
... an old Man's heart MS. 

VIII. 4 native Land] narrow Isle MS. 5 Think ye they fled 
restraints they ill could brook MS. 9 voice more soft than Zephyr's 
MS. 12 Explore] Think on MS. 1 ; Mark well MS. 2 13 be known 
and understood MS. 




[Composed probably January or February, 1845. Published 1845.] 
DAYS undefiled by luxury or sloth, 
Firm self-denial, manners grave and staid, 
Bights equal, laws with cheerfulness obeyed, 
Words that require no sanction from an oath, 
And simple honesty a common growth 5 

This high repute, with bounteous Nature's aid, 
Won confidence, now ruthlessly betrayed 
At will, your power the measure of your troth ! 
All who revere the memory of Penn 

Grieve for the land on whose wild woods his name 10 

Was fondly grafted with a virtuous aim, 
Renounced, abandoned by degenerate Men 
For state-dishonour black as ever came 
To upper air from Mammon's loathsome den. 



[Composed probably 1837. Published: vol. of 1842.] 
AH why deceive ourselves ! by no mere fit 
Of sudden passion roused shall men attain 
True freedom where for ages they have lain 
Bound in a dark abominable pit, 

With life's best sinews more and more unknit. 5 

Here, there, a banded few who loathe the chain 
May rise to break it : effort worse than vain 
For thee, O great Italian nation, split 
Into those jarring fractions. Let thy scope 
Be one fixed mind for all ; thy rights approve 10 

To thy own conscience gradually renewed ; 
Learn to make Time the father of wise Hope ; 
Then trust thy cause to the arm of Fortitude, 
The light of Knowledge, and the warmth of Love. 

X. 7 May strive to spurn MS. 
9-10 Ere thou cope 

Uprisen, with baleful sway 
corr. to Thy first scope 

Be unity of mind MS. 




[Composed probably 1837. Published: vol. of 1842.] 

HARD task ! exclaim the undisciplined, to lean 

On Patience coupled with such slow endeavour, 

That long-lived servitude must last for ever, 

Perish the grovelling few, who, prest between 

Wrongs and the terror of redress, would wean 5 

Millions from glorious aims. Our chains to sever 

Let us break forth in tempest now or never ! 

What, is there then no space for golden mean 

And gradual progress ? Twilight leads to day, 

And, even within the burning zones of earth, 10 

The hastiest sunrise yields a temperate ray ; 

The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth : 

Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, 

She scans the future with the eye of gods. 



[Composed probably 1837. Published: vol. of 1842.] 

As leaves are to the tree whereon they grow 

And wither, every human generation 

Is to the Being of a mighty nation, 

Locked in our world's embrace through weal and woe ; 

Thought that should teach the zealot to forego 5 

Rash schemes, to abjure all selfish agitation, 

And seek through noiseless pains and moderation 

The unblemished good they only can bestow. 

Alas ! with most, who weigh futurity 

Against time present, passion holds the scales: 10 

Hence equal ignorance of both prevails, 

And nations sink ; or, struggling to be free, 

Are doomed to flounder on, like wounded whales 

Tossed on the bosom of a stormy sea. 



[Composed January or February, 1845. Published 1845.] 

YOUNG ENGLAND what is then become of Old 

Of dear Old England ? Think they she is dead, 

Dead to the very name ? Presumption fed 

On empty air ! That name will keep its hold 

In the true filial bosom's inmost fold 5 

For ever. The Spirit of Alfred, at the head 

Of all who for her rights watch'd, toil'd and bled, 

Knows that this prophecy is not too bold. 

What how ! shall she submit in will and deed 

To Beardless Boys an imitative race, 10 

The servum pecus of a Gallic breed ? 

Dear Mother ! if thou must thy steps retrace, 

Go where at least meek Innocency dwells ; 

Let Babes and Sucklings be thy oracles. 


[Composed ?. Published: vol. of 1842.] 

FEEL for the wrongs to universal ken 

Daily exposed, woe that unshrouded lies ; 

And seek the Sufferer in his darkest den, 

Whether conducted to the spot by sighs 

And moanings, or he dwells (as if the wren 5 

Taught him concealment) hidden from all eyes 

In silence and the awful modesties 

Of sorrow ; feel for all, as brother Men ! 

Rest not in hope want's icy chain to thaw 

By casual boons and formal charities ; 10 

Learn to be Just, just through impartial law ; 

Far as ye may, erect and equalise ; 

And, what ye cannot reach by statute, draw 

Each from his fountain of self-sacrifice ! 

XIV. 9-10 80 1845: Feel for the Poor, but not to still your qualms 
By formal charity or dole of alms; 1842 



[Composed 1839-40. Published December, 1841 (Quarterly Beview); vol. 

of 1842.] 



THIS Spot at once unfolding sight so fair 

Of sea and land, with yon grey towers that still 

Rise up as if to lord it over air 

Might soothe in human breasts the sense of ill, 

Or charm it out of memory ; yea, might fill 5 

The heart with joy and gratitude to God 

For all his bounties upon man bestowed: 

Why bears it then the name of "Weeping Hill" ? 

Thousands, as toward yon old Lancastrian Towers, 

A prison's crown, along this way they pass'd 10 

For lingering durance or quick death with shame, 

From this bare eminence thereon have cast 

Their first look blinded as tears fell in showers 

Shed on their chains ; and hence that doleful name. 


TENDERLY do we feel by Nature's law 

For worst offenders : though the heart will heave 

With indignation, deeply moved we grieve, 

In afterthought, for Him who stood in awe 

Neither of God nor man, and only saw, 5 

Lost wretch, a horrible device enthroned 

On proud temptations, till the victim groaned 

Under the steel his hand had dared to draw. 

But O, restrain compassion, if its course, 

As oft befals, prevent or turn aside 10 

Judgments and aims and acts whose higher source 

Is sympathy with the unforewarned, who died 

Blameless with them that shuddered o'er his grave, 

And all who from the law firm safety crave. 

I. 10 passed] past 1842-50 v. note. 



THE Roman Consul doomed his sons to die 

Who had betrayed their country. The stern word 

Afforded (may it through all time afford) 

A theme for praise and admiration high. 

Upon the surface of humanity 

He rested not ; its depths his mind explored ; 

He felt ; but his parental bosom's lord 

Was Duty, Duty calmed his agony. 

And some, we know, when they by wilful act 

A single human life have wrongly taken, i 

Pass sentence on themselves, confess the fact, 

And to atone for it, with soul unshaken 

Kneel at the feet of Justice, and, for faith 

Broken with all mankind, solicit death. 


Is Death, when evil against good has fought 

With such fell mastery that a man may dare 

By deeds the blackest purpose to lay bare 

Is Death, for one to that condition brought, 

For him, or any one, the thing that ought 

To be most dreaded ? Lawgivers, beware, 

Lest, capital pains remitting till ye spare 

The murderer, ye, by sanction to that thought, 

Seemingly given, debase the general mind ; 

Tempt the vague will tried standards to disown, i 

Nor only palpable restraints unbind, 

But upon Honour's head disturb the crown, 

Whose absolute rule permits not to withstand 

In the weak love of life his least command, 

III. 2 For treason to MS. 3 through all time] evermore MS. 

4-6 A theme for general admiration high 
As just ; the surface of humanity 
Deceived not him ; MS. 
8-14 Was reason; she had sat the cause to try 

And who could grieve if he whose wilful act 
A fellow creature's life has etc. 
(corr. to Nor let us shrink from praise of one whose act 

With fixed aforethought malice life hath taken) 
Sitting himself in judgment of the fact 
Should be of all desire to live forsaken, 
(Pass sentence on himself with Soul unshaken) 
Yea, as a Being who has broken faith 
With the whole human race should covet (thirst for) death. MS. 



NOT to the object specially designed, 

Howe'er momentous in itself it be, 

Good to promote or curb depravity, 

Is the wise Legislator's view confined. 

His Spirit, when most severe, is oft most kind ; 5 

As all Authority in earth depends 

On Love and Fear, their several powers he blends, 

Copying with awe the one Paternal mind. 

Uncaught by processes in show humane, 

He feels how far the act would derogate 10 

From even the humblest functions of the State ; 

If she, self -shorn of Majesty, ordain 

That never more shall hang upon her breath 

The last alternative of Life or Death. 


YE brood of conscience Spectres ! that frequent 

The bad man's restless walk, and haunt his bed 

Fiends in your aspect, yet beneficent 

In act, as hovering Angels when they spread 

Their wings to guard the unconscious Innocent 5 

Slow be the Statutes of the land to share 

A laxity that could not but impair 

Your power to punish crime, and so prevent. 

And ye, Beliefs ! coiled serpent-like about 

The adage on all tongues, ' 'Murder will out," 10 

How shall your ancient warnings work for good 

In the full might they hitherto have shown, 

If for deliberate shedder of man's blood 

Survive not Judgment that requires his own ? 


BEFORE the world had past her time of youth 

While polity and discipline were weak, 

The precept eye for eye, and tooth for tooth, 

Came forth a light, though but as of daybreak, 

Strong as could then be borne. A Master meek 5 

Proscribed the spirit fostered by that rule, 

VII. 2 While yet the arm of polity was MS. 3 precept] maxim MS. 
4-6 Came forth a glimmering (feeble) and imperfect streak 

The dawn of Justice. An Instructor meek 

And holy superseded the first rule ; 
corr. to Brought to mankind a better, purer 


Patience his law, long-suffering his school, 

And love the end, which all through peace must seek. 

But lamentably do they err who strain 

His mandates, given rash impulse to controul 10 

And keep vindictive thirstings from the soul, 

So far that, if consistent in their scheme, 

They must forbid the State to inflict a pain, 

Making of social order a mere dream. 


FIT retribution, by the moral code 

Determined, lies beyond the State's embrace, 

Yet, as she may, for each peculiar case 

She plants well-measured terrors in the road 

Of wrongful acts. Downward it is and broad, 5 

And, the main fear once doomed to banishment, 

Far oftener then, bad ushering worse event, 

Blood would be spilt that in his dark abode 

Crime might lie better hid. And, should the change 

Take from the horror due to a foul deed, 10 

Pursuit and evidence so far must fail, 

And, guilt escaping, passion then might plead 

In angry spirits for her old free range, 

And the "wild justice of revenge" prevail. 

VII. 8-14 But these Interpreters have yet to seek 

The Spirit, who, to the letter all too strict, 
Would place his blessed rules in domination 
Not only, as designed, o'er bursts of passion, 
And pains which passion's vengeance longs to inflict, 
But o'er the State's forbearance stretched to extremes 
Which for her stedfast reason are mere dreams. MS.l 
9-14 . . . strain 

His mandates given to temper and control 
Private resentment, and to calm the soul 
Under all wrong, strain them to that extreme 
That would forbid the State to inflict a pain, 
Would make of social order a mere dream. MS. 2 

VIII. 1 by] to MS. 

2-9 Adjusted, ne'er was wisely thought the aim 

Of penal law ; her humbler safer claim 

Is to plant obvious terrors in the road 

That points to guilty deeds. But is it trod ? 

If fear were none of capital punishment 

The robber might give way to worse intent 

And blood be shed MS. 

10 Take from . . . foul] Abate . . . fatal MS. 11 so far must] must 

oftener MS. 13 In angry] With untaught MS. 



THOUGH to give timely warning and deter 

Is one great aim of penalty, extend 

Thy mental vision further and ascend 

Far higher, else full surely shalt thou err. 

What is a State ? The wise behold in her 5 

A creature born of time, that keeps one eye 

Fixed on the statutes of Eternity, 

To which her judgments reverently defer. 

Speaking through Law's dispassionate voice the State 

Endues her conscience with external life 10 

And being, to preclude or quell the strife 

Of individual will, to elevate 

The grovelling mind, the erring to recal, 

And fortify the moral sense of all. 


OUR bodily life, some plead, that life the shrine 

Of an immortal spirit, is a gift 

So sacred, so informed with light divine, 

That no tribunal, though most wise to sift 

Deed and intent, should turn the Being adrift 5 

Into that world where penitential tear 

May not avail, nor prayer have for God's ear 

A voice that world whose veil no hand can lift 

For earthly sight. "Eternity and Time," 

They urge, "have interwoven claims and rights 10 

Not to be jeopardised through foulest crime: 

The sentence rule by mercy's heaven-born lights." 

Even so ; but measuring not by finite sense 

Infinite Power, perfect Intelligence. 


AH, think how one compelled for life to abide 

Locked in a dungeon needs must eat the heart 

Out of his own humanity, and part 

With every hope that mutual cares provide ; 

And, should a less unnatural doom confide 5 

In life-long exile on a savage coast, 

Soon the relapsing penitent may toast 

IX. 4 thou shalt 1842 


Of yet more heinous guilt, with fiercer pride. 

Hence thoughtful Mercy, Mercy sage and pure, 

Sanctions the forfeiture that Law demands, 10 

Leaving the final issue in His hands 

Whose goodness knows no change, whose love is sure, 

Who sees, foresees ; who cannot judge amiss, 

And wafts at will the contrite soul to bliss. 


SEE the Condemned alone within his cell 
And prostrate at some moment when remorse 
Stings to the quick, and, with resistless force, 
Assaults the pride she strove in vain to quell. 
Then mark him, him who could so long rebel, 5 

The crime confessed, a kneeling Penitent 
Before the Altar, where the Sacrament 
Softens his heart, till from his eyes outwell 
Tears of salvation. Welcome death ! while Heaven 
> Does in this change exceedingly rejoice ; 10 

While yet the solemn heed the State hath given 
Helps him to meet the last Tribunal's voice 
In faith, which fresh offences, were he cast 
On old temptations, might for ever blast. 



YES, though He well may tremble at the sound 

Of his own voice, who from the judgment-seat 

Sends the pale Convict to his last retreat 

In death ; though Listeners shudder all around, 

They know the dread requital's source profound ; 5 

Nor is, they feel, its wisdom obsolete 

(Would that it were!) the sacrifice unmeet 

For Christian Faith. But hopeful signs abound ; 

The social rights of man breathe purer air ; 

XII. 1 alone within] recumbent in MS. 2 And] Or MS. 3 Hath 
stung him, and, with more prevailing force MS. 4 strove in vain] failed 
at first MS. 
5-7 , . . kneeling when the Chapel-bell 

Hath called to prayer, submissive, penitent ; 

Or at MS. 


Religion deepens her preventive care ; 10 

Then, moved by needless fear of past abuse, 
Strike not from Law's firm hand that awful rod, 
But leave it thence to drop for lack of use : 
Oh, speed the blessed hour, Almighty God ! 



THE formal World relaxes her cold chain 

For One who speaks in numbers ; ampler scope 

His utterance finds ; and, conscious of the gain, 

Imagination works with bolder hope 

The cause of grateful reason to sustain ; 5 

And, serving Truth, the heart more strongly beats 

Against all barriers which his labour meets 

In lofty place, or humble Life's domain. 

Enough ; before us lay a painful road, 

And guidance have I sought in duteous love 10 

From Wisdom's heavenly Father. Hence hath flowed 

Patience, with trust that, whatsoe'er the way 

Each takes in this high matter, all may move 

Cheered with the prospect of a brighter day. 

XIV. 9 No more; a painful path before me lay MS. 
11-12 From Him who governs, earthly thrones above; 
And with assured belief, whate'er MS. 




From the South-west Coast of Cumberland. 1811. 
[Composed August, 1811. Published: vol. of 1842.] 

FAR from our home by Grasmere's quiet Lake, 

From the Vale's peace which all her fields partake, 

Here on the bleakest point of Cumbria's shore 

We sojourn stunned by Ocean's ceaseless roar; 

While, day by day, grim neighbour ! huge Black Comb 5 

Frowns deepening visibly his native gloom, 

Unless, perchance rejecting in despite 

What on the Plain we have of warmth and light, 

In his own storms he hides himself from sight. 

Rough is the time ; and thoughts, that would be free 10 

From heaviness, oft fly, dear Friend, to thee ; 

Turn from a spot where neither sheltered road 

Nor hedge-row screen invites my steps abroad ; 

Where one poor Plane-tree, having as it might 

Attained a stature twice a tall man's height, 15 

Hopeless of further growth, and brown and sere 

Through half the summer, stands with top cut sheer, 

Like an unshifting weathercock which proves 

How cold the quarter that the wind best loves, 

Or like a Centinel that, evermore 20 

Darkening the window, ill defends the door 

I, 1-5 Far from the stillness of our Grasmere lake, 

Our nest as cozy as a Bird could make, 

(Far from our home by Grasmere's lake serene 

Her Vale profound and mountains ever green) 

My time is spent, where thoughts that would be free 

From heaviness, turn oft, dear Friend, to Thee, 

In constant hearing of loud Ocean's roar, 

Where daily on a bleak and lonesome shore 

Even at this summer season huge Black Comb MSS. 

10-13 Here are we, fixed, where neither sheltered road Nor MS. 1 20 

like a 1845: stedfast MS., 1842 21 Darkening . . . ill] Darkens . . . 

not MSS. 


Of this unfinished house a Portress bare, 

Where strength has been the Builder's only care ; 

Whose rugged walls may still for years demand 

The final polish of the Plasterer's hand. 25 

This Dwelling's Inmate more than three weeks' space 

And oft a Prisoner in the cheerless place, 

I of whose touch the fiddle would complain, 

Whose breath would labour at the flute in vain, 

In music all unversed, nor blessed with skill 3 

A bridge to copy, or to paint a mill, 

Tired of my books, a scanty company ! 

And tired of listening to the boisterous sea 

Pace between door and window muttering rhyme, 

An old resource to cheat a froward time ! 35 

Though these dull hours (mine is it, or their shame ?) 

Would tempt me to renounce that humble aim. 

But if there be a Muse who, free to take 

Her seat upon Olympus, doth forsake 

Those heights (like Phoebus when his golden locks 40 

He veiled, attendant on Thessalian flocks) 

And, in disguise, a Milkmaid with her pail 

Trips down the pathways of some winding dale ; 

Or, like a Mermaid, warbles on the shores 

To fishers mending nets beside their doors ; 45 

Or, Pilgrim-like, on forest moss reclined, 

Gives plaintive ditties to the heedless wind, 

Or listens to its play among the boughs 

Above her head and so forgets her vows 

If such a Visitant of Earth there be 50 

And she would deign this day to smile on me 

And aid my verse, content with local bounds 

Of natural beauty and life's daily rounds, 

Thoughts, chances, sights, or doings, which we tell 

Without reserve to those whom we love well 55 

28 fiddle] viol MS. 30 nor blessed with] and void of MS. 34 

muttering] murmuring MS. 

367 And it would well content me to disclaim 

In these dull hours a more ambitious aim MS. 1 
39 on heights Olympian MS. 

46-7 Or like a tired Way-fewer faint in mind Gives plaintive Ballads MS. 1 
47 ditties] Ave Marias MS. 2. 52-3 with narrow bounds, Life's beaten 
road and Nature's MSS. 


Then haply, Beaumont ! words in current clear 
Will flow, and on a welcome page appear 
Duly before thy sight, unless they perish here. 

What shall I treat of? News from Mona's Isle ? 
Such have we, but unvaried in its style ; 60 

No tales of Runagates fresh landed, whence 
And wherefore fugitive or on what pretence ; 
Of feasts, or scandal, eddying like the wind 
Most restlessly alive when most confined. 
Ask not of me, whose tongue can best appease 65 

The mighty tumults of the HOUSE OF KEYS ; 
The last year's cup whose Ram or Heifer gained, 
What slopes are planted, or what mosses drained : 
An eye of fancy only can I cast 

On that proud pageant now at hand or past, 70 

When full five hundred boats in trim array, 
With nets and sails outspread and streamers gay, 
And chanted hymns and stiller voice of prayer, 
For the old Manx-harvest to the Deep repair, 
Soon as the herring-shoals at distance shine 75 

Like beds of moonlight shifting on the brine. 

Mona from our Abode is daily seen, 
But with a wilderness of waves between ; 
And by conjecture only can we speak 

Of aught transacted there in bay or creek ; 80 

No tidings reach us thence from town or field, 
Only faint news her mountain-sunbeams yield, 
And some we gather from the misty air, 
And some the hovering clouds, our telegraph, declare. 
But these poetic mysteries I withhold ; 85 

For Fancy hath her fits both hot and cold, 
And should the colder fit with You be on 
When You might read, my credit would be gone. 

56-8 Then haply Beaumont, for my pen is near, 
The unlaboured lines to your indulgent ear 
May be transmitted, else will perish here. MS. 1 

57-8 May flow, unlaboured lines that from thy ear 
Audience will crave unless they MS. 2 

77-9 our . . . we] my ... I and so in 81, 83, 84 MSS. 


Let more substantial themes the pen engage, 
And nearer interests culled from the opening stage 90 

Of our migration. Ere the welcome dawn 
Had from the east her silver star withdrawn, 
The Wain stood ready, at our Cottage-door, 
Thoughtfully freighted with a various store ; 
And long or ere the uprising of the Sun 95 

O'er dew-damped dust our journey was begun, 
A needful journey, under favouring skies, 
Through peopled Vates ; yet something in the guise 
Of those old Patriarchs when from well to well 
They roamed through Wastes where now the tented Arabs dwell. 

Say first, to whom did we the charge confide, 101 

Who promptly undertook the Wain to guide 
Up many a sharply- twining road and down, 
And over many a wide hill's craggy crown, 
Through the quick turns of many a hollow nook, 105 

And the rough bed of many an unbridged brook ? 
A blooming Lass who in her better hand 
Bore a light switch, her sceptre of command 
When, yet a slender Girl, she often led, 

Skilful and bold, the horse and burthened sled 1 no 

From the peat-yielding Moss on Gowdar's head. 
What could go wrong with such a Charioteer 
For goods and chattels, or those Infants dear, 
A Pair who smilingly sat side by side, 

Our hope confirming that the salt-sea tide, 115 

Whose free embraces we were bound to seek, 
Would their lost strength restore and freshen the pale cheek ? 
Such hope did either Parent entertain 
Pacing behind along the silent lane. 

Blithe hopes and happy musings soon took flight, 120 

For lo ! an uncouth melancholy sight 
On a green bank a creature stood forlorn 
1 A local word for sledge. 

89 the pen] our care MSS. 

90-1 And humbler business occupy the stage. 

First for our journey hither. Ere the dawn MS. 1 

95 or ere] before MSS. 96 journey] travel MSS. 97 favouring] 

summer MS. 1 

113/14 Escaped not long from malady severe, MSS. 122 What see 

we there ? A creature stood forlorn MS. 2 
917.1 7 IV L 


Just half protruded to the light of morn, 

Its hinder part concealed by hedge-row thorn. 

The Figure called to mind a beast of prey 125 

Stript of its frightful powers by slow decay, 

And, though no longer upon rapine bent, 

Dim memory keeping of its old intent. 

We started, looked again with anxious eyes, 

And in that griesly object recognise 130 

The Curate's Dog his long- tried friend, for they, 

As well we knew, together had grown grey. 

The Master died, his drooping servant's grief 

Found at the Widow's feet some sad relief; 

Yet still he lived in pining discontent, 135 

Sadness which no indulgence could prevent ; 

Hence whole day wanderings, broken nightly sleeps 

And lonesome watch that out of doors he keeps ; 

Not oftentimes, I trust, as we, poor brute ! 

Espied him on his legs sustained, blank, mute, 140 

And of all visible motion destitute, 

So that the very heaving of his breath 

Seemed stopt, though by some other power than death. 

Long as we gazed upon the form and face, 

A mild domestic pity kept its place, 145 

Unscared by thronging fancies of strange hue 

That haunted us in spite of what we knew. 

Even now I sometimes think of him as lost 

129 anxious eyes] blank surprize MS. 
133-5 so 1845. 

[The Master died, such comfort as remained 

To the poor brute he from the Widow gained MS: 1842 as text] 

Until the Vale she quitted, [Now she had left the valley MS.] and 

their door 

Was closed ; to whicii she will return no more ; 
But first old Faithful [Trusty MS.] to a neighbour's care 
Was given in charge; [Had been transferred MS.] nor lacked he 

dainty fare, 

And in the chimney nook was free to lie 
And doze, or, if his hour were come, to die 
Yet [And MS.] still he lived MS. 1842 
142-3 So that . . . Seemed] As if ... Were MS. 
145-50 Our first unquiet pity held its plaice, 

Strange images we saw, and fancy drew 
As strange to haunt us, spite of what we knew. 
Imbecile seemed he, or by madness crossed 
Or stiffened and benumbed by ruthless frost, 
(He seemed by inoffensive madness crossed 


In second-sight appearances, or crost 

By spectral shapes of guilt, or to the ground, 150 

On which he stood, by spells unnatural bound, 

Like a gaunt shaggy Porter forced to wait 

In days of old romance at Archimago's gate. 

Advancing Summer, Nature's law fulfilled, 
The choristers in every grove had stilled ; 155 

But we, we lacked not music of our own, 
For lightsome Fanny had thus early thrown, 
Mid the gay prattle of those infant tongues, 
Some notes prelusive, from the round of songs 
With which, more zealous than the liveliest bird 160 

That in wild Arden's brakes was ever heard, 
Her work and her work's partners she can cheer, 
The whole day long, and all days of the year. 

Thus gladdened from our own dear Vale we pass 
And soon approach Diana's Looking-glass! 165 

To Loughrigg-tarn, round clear and bright as heaven, 
Such name Italian fancy would have given, 
Ere on its banks the few grey cabins rose 
That yet disturb not its concealed repose 
More than the feeblest wind that idly blows. 170 

Ah, Beaumont! when an opening in the road 
Stopped me at once by charm of what it showed, 
The encircling region vividly exprest 
Within the mirror's depth, a world at rest 
Sky streaked with purple, grove and craggy bield, 1 175 

And the smooth green of many a pendent field, 
And, quieted and soothed, a torrent small, 
A little daring would-be waterfall. 

1 A word common in the country, signifying shelter, as in Scotland. 

Or in some second-sight appearance, lost) 

By helpless hunger crazed, or to the ground MS. 1 

165 every] copse and MS. 1 158 infant] busy MSS. 161 wild] 
wide MSS. 

164-5 Thus gladdened soon we saw, and could not pass 
Without a pause MSS. 

166 To Loughrigg's pool MS. 1 169 disturb] molest MS. 1 
170 feeblest] ruffling MSS. 

173-5 And I beheld, within its glassy breast 

The encircling landscape, lodged in perfect rest, 

Woods intermingling with a rocky bield MSS. 
177 And hurrying down the cleft a streamlet small MS. 


One chimney smoking and its azure wreath, 

Associate all in the calm Pool beneath, 180 

With here and there a faint imperfect gleam 

Of water-lilies veiled in misty steam 

What wonder at this hour of stillness deep, 

A shadowy link 'tween wakefulness and sleep, 

When Nature's self, amid such blending, seems 185 

To render visible her own soft dreams, 

If, mixed with what appeared of rock, lawn, wood, 

Fondly embosomed in the tranquil flood, 

A glimpse I caught of that Abode, by Thee 

Designed to rise in humble privacy, 190 

A lowly Dwelling, here to be outspread, 

Like a small Hamlet, with its bashful head 

Half hid in native trees. Alas 'tis not, 

Nor ever was ; I sighed, and left the spot 

Unconscious of its own untoward lot, 195 

And thought in silence, with regret too keen, 

Of unexperienced joys that might have been ; 

Of neighbourhood and intermingling arts, 

And golden summer days uniting cheerful hearts. 

But time, irrevocable time, is flown, 200 

And let us utter thanks for blessings sown 

And reaped what hath been, and what is, our own. 

Not far we travelled ere a shout of glee, 
Startling us all, dispersed my reverie ; 

Such shout as many a sportive echo meeting 205 

Oft-times from Alpine chalets sends a greeting. 
Whence the blithe hail ? behold a Peasant stand 
On high, a kerchief waving in her hand ! 
Not unexpectant that by early day 

Our little Band would thrid this mountain way, 210 

Before her cottage on the bright hill side 
She hath advanced with hope to be descried. 
Bight gladly answering signals we displayed, 
Moving along a tract of morning shade, 
And vocal wishes sent of like good will 215 

To our kind Friend high on the sunny hill 

180 Together imaged in the pool beneath MS 1. 185-6 ... these watery 
gleams Is rendering visible MS. 188 Fondly embosomed] Truly 

repeated MS* 1 195 Unconscious of ] Repining at MS. 199 cheerful] 
peaceful corr. to tender MS. 1 


Luminous region, fair as if the prime 

Were tempting all astir to look aloft or climb ; 

Only the centre of the shining cot 

With door left open makes a gloomy spot, 220 

Emblem of those dark corners sometimes found 

Within the happiest breast on earthly ground. 

Rich prospect left behind of stream and vale, 
And mountain- tops, a barren ridge we scale ; 
Descend and reach, in Yewdale's depths, a plain 225 

With haycocks studded, striped with yellowing grain 
An area level as a Lake and spread 
Under a rock too steep for man to tread, 
Where sheltered from the north and bleak north-west 
Aloft the Raven hangs a visible nest, 230 

Fearless of all assaults that w r ould her brood molest. 
Hot sunbeams fill the steaming vale ; but hark, 
At our approach, a jealous watch-dog's bark, 
Noise that brings forth no liveried Page of state, 
But the whole household, that our coming wait. 235 

With Young and Old warm greetings we exchange, 
And jocund smiles, and toward the lowly Grange 
Press forward by the teasing dogs unscared. 
Entering, we find the morning meal prepared : 
So down we sit, though not till each had cast 240 

Pleased looks around the delicate repast 
Rich cream, and snow-white eggs fresh from the nest, 
With amber honey from the mountain's breast ; 
Strawberries from lane or woodland, offering wild 
Of children's industry, in hillocks piled, 245 

Cakes for the nonce, and butter fit to lie 
Upon a lordly dish ; frank hospitality 

217 Clear, luminous as if the conscious prime MS. 218 look aloft] 

gaze MS. 

2234 Two vallies crossed that from a spacious vale 

Branch off, a rough and heathy ridge etc. MS. 1 

225 Descend and soon have reached a fertile plain MS. 1 228 Under a 
huge black steep that knows not human tread MS. 1 
235-9 But hearty friends that on our coming wait 

With jocund smiles, warm greetings we exchange 

And soon the threshold of a lonely grange 

We enter etc. 

And on the table find the morning meal prepared. MS. 1 
246 for the nonce 1842 


Where simple art with bounteous nature vied, 
And cottage comfort shunned not seemly pride. 

Kind Hostess ! Handmaid also of the feast, 250 

If thou be lovelier than the kindling East, 
Words by thy presence unrestrained may speak 
Of a perpetual dawn from brow and cheek 
Instinct with light whose sweetest promise lies, 
Never retiring, in thy large dark eyes, 255 

Dark but to every gentle feeling true, 
As if their lustre flowed from ether's purest blue. 

Let me not ask what tears may have been wept 
By those bright eyes, what weary vigils kept, 
Beside that hearth what sighs may have been heaved 260 

For wounds inflicted, nor what toil relieved 
By fortitude and patience, and the grace 
Of heaven in pity visiting the place. 
Not unadvisedly those secret springs 

I leave unsearched : enough that memory clings, 265 

Here as elsewhere, to notices that make 
Their own significance for hearts awake, 
To rural incidents, whose genial powers 
Filled with delight three summer morning hours. 

More could my pen report of grave or gay 270 

That through our gipsy travel cheered the way ; 
But, bursting forth above the waves, the Sun 
Laughs at my pains, and seems to say, "Be done." 
Yet, Beaumont, thou wilt not, I trust, reprove 
This humble offering made by Truth to Love, 275 

Nor chide the Muse that stooped to break a spell 
Which might have else been on me yet : 


2524 The admiring poet without blame may speak 

Of thy perpetual dawn of brow and cheek 

Blest with a light (And that fair light) that in contentment lies MS. 
257 ether's purest] heaven's etherial MS. 270 More] Much MS. 1 

272 bursting] breaking MS. 1 273 Chides me with smiles that seem 

etc. MS. 1 
274-5 ... I trust wilt ne'er refuse 

Kindly to take this offering from a Muse 

Who stooped to aid me, studious of an end 

My spirits else had missed; farewell, dear Friend! MS. 1 



[Composed 1841. Published: vol. of 1842.] 

SOON did the Almighty Giver of all rest 

Take those dear young Ones to a fearless nest ; 

And in Death's arms has long reposed the Friend 

For whom this simple Register was penned. 

Thanks to the moth that spared it for our eyes ; 5 

And Strangers even the slighted Scroll may prize, 

Moved by the touch of kindred sympathies. 

For save the calm, repentance sheds o'er strife 

Raised by remembrances of misused life, 

The light from past endeavours purely willed 10 

And by Heaven's favour happily fulfilled ; 

Save hope that we, yet bound to Earth, may share 

The joys of the Departed what so fair 

As blameless pleasure, not without some tears, 

Reviewed through Love's transparent veil of years ? 15 

Note. LOUGHKIGO TARN, alluded to in the foregoing Epistle, resembles, 
though much smaller in compass, the Lake Nemi, or Speculum Diance as it 
is often called, riot only in its clear waters and circular form, and the 
beauty immediately surrounding it, but also as being overlooked by the 
eminence of Langdale Pikes as Lake Nemi is by that of Monte Calvo. Since 
this Epistle was written Loughrigg Tarn has lost much of its beauty by the 
felling of many natural clumps of wood, relics of the old forest, particularly 
upon the farm called "The Oaks", from the abundance of that tree which 
grew there. 

It is to be regretted, upon public grounds, that Sir George Beaumont did 
not carry into effect his intention of constructing here a Summer Retreat 
in the style I have described ; as his taste would have set an example how 
buildings, with all the accommodations modern society requires, might be 
introduced even into the most secluded parts of this country without 
injuring their native character. The design was not abandoned from failure 
of inclination on his part, but in consequence of local untowardness which 
need not be particularised. 



[Composed November, 1829. Published 1835.] 

THE soaring lark is blest as proud 
When at heaven's gate she sings ; 

The roving bee proclaims aloud 
Her flight by vocal wings ; 

7 For its own sake, and MS. 


While Ye, in lasting durance pent, 5 

Your silent lives employ 
For something more than dull content, 

Though haply less than joy. 

Yet might your glassy prison seem 

A place where joy is known, 10 

Where golden flash and silver gleam 

Have meanings of their own ; 
While, high and low, and all about, 

Your motions, glittering Elves ! 
Ye weave no danger from without, 15 

And peace among yourselves. 

Type of a sunny human breast 

Is your transparent cell ; 
Where Fear is but a transient guest, 

No sullen Humours dwell ; 20 

Where, sensitive of every ray 

That smites this tiny sea, 
Your scaly panoplies repay 

The loan with usury. 

How beautiful ! Yet none knows why 25 

This ever-graceful change, 
Renewed renewed incessantly 

Within your quiet range. 
Is it that ye with conscious skill 

For mutual pleasure glide ; 30 

And sometimes, not without your will, 

Are dwarfed, or magnified ? 

Fays, Genii qjf gigantic size ! 

And now, in twilight dim, 
Clustering like constellated eyes 35 

In wings of Cherubim, 
When the fierce orbs abate their glare ; 

Whatever your forms express, 
Whate'er ye seem, whate'er ye are 

All leads to gentleness. 40 

II. 19 transient] lingering MS. 22 this] your MS. 26 ever- 

varying MS. 34 in twilight] when air is MS. 35 Lustrous as 

regal gems, or eyes MS. 37 so 1837: When they abate their fiery 

glare; MS., 1835 


Cold though your nature be, 'tis pure ; 

Your birthright is a fence 
From all that haughtier kinds endure 

Through tyranny of sense. 
Ah ! not alone by colours bright 45 

Are Ye to heaven allied, 
When, like essential Forms of light, 

Ye mingle, or divide. 

For day-dreams soft as e'er beguiled 

Day-thoughts while limbs repose ; 50 

For moonlight fascinations mild, 

Your gift, ere shutters close 
Accept, mute Captives ! thanks and praise ; 

And may this tribute prove 
That gentle admirations raise 55 

Delight resembling love. 



Addressed to a friend; the gold and silver fishes having been removed to 
a pool in the pleasure-ground of Rydal Mount. 

4 'The liberty of a people consists in being governed by laws which they have 
made for themselves, under whatever form it be of government. The 
liberty of a private man, in being master of his own time and actions, 
as far as may consist with the laws of God and of his country. Of this 
latter we are here to discourse." COWLEY. 

[Composed 1829. Published 1836.] 

THOSE breathing Tokens of your kind regard, 

(Suspect not, Anna, that their fate is hard ; 

Not soon does aught to which mild fancies cling 

In lonely spots, become a slighted thing ;) 

Those silent Inmates now no longer share, 5 

Nor do they need, our hospitable care, 

Removed in kindness from their glassy Cell 

To the fresh waters of a living Well 

41-8 not in MS. 53 Accept] Receive MS. mute] meek MS. 


An , elfin pool so sheltered that its rest 

No winds disturb ; the mirror of whose breast 10 

Is smooth as clear, save where with dimples small 

A fly may settle, or a blossom fall. 

There swims, of blazing sun and beating shower 

Fearless (but how obscured!) the golden Power, 

That from his bauble prison used to cast 15 

Gleams by the richest jewel unsurpast ; 

And near him, darkling like a sullen Gnome, 

The silver Tenant of the crystal dome ; 

Dissevered both from all the mysteries 

Of hue and altering shape that charmed all eyes. 20 

Alas ! they pined, they languished while they shone ; 

And, if not so, what matters beauty gone 

And admiration lost, by change of place 

That brings to the inward creature no disgrace ? 

But if the change restore his birthright, then, 25 

Whate'er the difference, boundless is the gain. 

Who can divine what impulses from God 

Reach the caged lark, within a town-abode, 

From his poor inch or two of daisied sod ? 

O yield him back his privilege ! No sea 30 

Swells like the bosom of a man set free ; 

A wilderness is rich with liberty. 

Roll on, ye spouting whales, who die or keep 

Your independence in the fathomless Deep ! 

Spread, tiny nautilus, the living sail ; 35 

Dive, at thy choice, or brave the freshening gale ! 

If unreproved the ambitious eagle mount 

Sunward to seek the daylight in its fount, 

Bays, gulfs, and ocean's Indian width, shall be, 

Till the world perishes, a field for thee ! 40 

III. 9-12 so 1845: 

That spreads into an elfin pool opaque 

Of which close boughs a glimmering mirror make, 

On whose smooth breast with dimples light and small 

The fly may settle, leaf or blossom fall. MS., 1835-7, but 1837 

settle, or the blossom 

13-14 Hailstones and big drops of the thunder shower 
There swims (but how obscured) etc. MS. 

17-18 And there, a darkling Gnome, in sullen robe . . . globe MS. 21 

so 1845: They pined, perhaps, MS., 1835-43 40/41 Here follows in the 

MS. "Humanity" (t>. p. 102) 


While musing here I sit in shadow cool, 
And watch these mute Companions, in the pool, 
(Among reflected boughs of leafy trees) 
By glimpses caught disporting at their ease, 
Enlivened, braced, by hardy luxuries, 45 

I ask what warrant fixed them (like a spell 
Of witchcraft fixed them) in the crystal cell ; 
To wheel with languid motion round and round, 
Beautiful, yet in mournful durance bound. 
Their peace, perhaps, our lightest footfall marred ; 50 

On their quick sense our sweetest music jarred ; 
And whither could they dart, if seized with fear ? 
No sheltering stone, no tangled root ^as near. 
When fire or taper ceased to cheer the room, 
They wore away the night in starless gloom ; 55 

And, when the sun first dawned upon the streams, 
How faint their portion of his vital beams ! 
Thus, and unable to complain, they fared, 
While not one joy of ours by them was shared. 

Is there a cherished bird (I venture now 60 

To snatch a sprig from Chaucer's reverend brow) 
Is there a brilliant fondling of the cage, 
Though sure of plaudits on his costly stage, 
Though fed with dainties from the snow-white hand 
Of a kind mistress, fairest of the land, 65 

But gladly would escape ; and, if need were, 
Scatter the colours from the plumes that bear 
The emancipated captive through blithe air 
Into strange woods, where he at large may live 
On best or worst which they and Nature give ? 70 

The beetle loves his unpretending track, 
The snail the house he carries on his back ; 
The far-fetched worm with pleasure would disown 
The bed we give him, though of softest down ; 
A noble instinct ; in all kinds the same, 75 

All ranks ! What Sovereign, worthy of the name, 
If doomed to breathe against his lawful will 
An element that flatters him to kill, 

42 And watch (by glimpses caught) in this calm pool MS. 44 Those 

mute Companions, as they sport at ease MS. 47 crystal] glassy MS. 

49 mournful 1837: a mournful 1885: piteous MS. 


But would rejoice to barter outward show 

For the least boon that freedom can bestow ? 80 

But most the Bard is true to inborn right, 
Lark of the dawn, and Philomel of night, 
Exults in freedom, can with rapture vouch 
For the dear blessings of a lowly couch, 
A natural meal days, months, from Nature's hand ; 85 

Time, place, and business, all at his command! 
Who bends to happier duties, who more wise 
Than the industrious Poet, taught to prize, 
Above all grandeur, a pure life uncrossed 
By cares in which simplicity is lost ? 90 

That life the flowery path that winds by stealth 
Which Horace needed for his spirit's health ; 
Sighed for, in heart and genius, overcome 
By noise and strife, and questions wearisome, 
And the vain splendours of Imperial Home ? 95 

Let easy mirth his social hours inspire, 
And fiction animate his sportive lyre, 
Attuned to verse that, crowning light Distress 
With garlands, cheats her into happiness ; 
Give me the humblest note of those sad strains 100 

Drawn forth by pressure of his gilded chains, 
As a chance-sunbeam from his memory fell 
Upon the Sabine farm he loved so well ; 
Or when the prattle of Blandusia's spring 
Haunted his ear he only listening 105 

He proud to please, above all rivals, fit 
To win the palm of gaiety and wit ; 
He, doubt not, with involuntary dread, 
Shrinking from each new favour to be shed, 
By the world's Ruler, on his honoured head! no 

In a deep vision's intellectual scene, 
Such earnest longings and regrets as keen 
Depressed the melancholy Cowley, laid 
Under a fancied yew-tree's luckless shade ; 
A doleful bower for penitential song, 115 

Where Man and Muse complained of mutual wrong ; 
While Cam's ideal current glided by, 

104 Blandusia 1837: Bandusia 1S35 110 honoured J laurel' d MS. 


And antique towers nodded their foreheads high, 

Citadels dear to studious privacy. 

But Fortune, who had long been used to sport 120 

With this tried Servant of a thankless Court, 

Relenting met his wishes ; and to you 

The remnant of his days at least was true ; 

You, whom, though long deserted, he loved best ; 

You, Muses, books, fields, liberty, and rest! 125 

Far happier they who, fixing hope and aim 
On the humanities of peaceful fame, 
Enter betimes with more than martial fire 
The generous course, aspire, and still aspire ; 
Upheld by warnings heeded not too late 130 

Stifle the contradictions of their fate, 
And to one purpose cleave, their Being's godlike mate ! 

Thus, gifted Friend, but with the placid brow 
That woman ne'er should forfeit, keep thy vow ; 
With modest scorn reject whate'er would blind 135 

The ethereal eyesight, cramp the winged mind ! 
Then, with a blessing granted from above 
To every act, word, thought, and look of love, 
Life's book for Thee may lie unclosed, till age 
Shall with a thankful tear bedrop its latest page. 1 140 

1 There is now, alas ! no possibility of the anticipation, with which the 
above Epistle concludes, being realised: nor were the verses ever seen by 
the Individual for whom they were intended. She accompanied her hus- 
band, the Rev. Wm. Fletcher, to India, and died of cholera, at the age of 
thirty-two or thirty-three years, on her way from Shalapore to Bombay, 
deeply lamented by all who knew her. 

Her enthusiasm was ardent, her piety steadfast ; and her great talents 
would have enabled her to be eminently useful in the difficult path of life 
to which she had been called. The opinion she entertained of her own per- 
formances, given to the world under her maiden name, Jewsbury, was 
modest and humble, and, indeed, far below their merits, as is often the case 
with those who are making trial of their powers, with a hope to discover 
what they are best fitted for. In one quality, viz. quickness in the motions 
of her mind, she had, within the range of the Author's acquaintance, no 

125/6 Whose was that voice that like a Trumpet spake 
From lawn and woodland, from the gleaming lake, 
From heaven's blue depth above the mountain's head 
And from my heart not dulled by age ? It said 
"Thrice happy they etc. MS. deleted 

126 Far 1837: But 1835 127 humanities] humanity MS. 



[Composed March, 1840. Published: vol. of 1842.] 

Now when the primrose makes a splendid show, 

And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, 

And humbler growths as moved with one desire 

Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire, 

Poor Robin is yet flowerless ; but how gay 5 

With his red stalks upon this sunny day ! 

And, as his tufts of leaves he spreads, content 

With a hard bed and scanty nourishment, 

Mixed with the green, some shine not lacking power 

To rival summer's brightest scarlet flower ; 10 

And flowers they well might seem to passers-by 

If looked at only with a careless eye ; 

Flowers or a richer produce (did it suit 

The season) sprinklings of ripe strawberry fruit. 

But while a thousand pleasures come unsought, 15 

Why fix upon his wealth or want a thought ? 
Is the string touched in prelude to a lay 
Of pretty fancies that would round him play 
When all the world acknowledged elfin sway ? 
Or does it suit our humour to commend 20 

Poor Robin as a sure and crafty friend, 
Whose practice teaches, spite of names to show 
Bright colours whether they deceive or no ? 
Nay, we would simply praise the free good-will 
With which, though slighted, he, on naked hill 25 

Or in warm valley, seeks his part to fill ; 
Cheerful alike if bare of flowers as now, 
Or when his tiny gems shall deck his brow : 
Yet more, we wish that men by men despised, 
And such as lift their foreheads overprized, 3 

Should sometimes think, where'er they chance to spy 
1 The small wild Geranium known by that name. 

IV. 6 Flowerless is ragged Robin! MS. 7 tufts 1845: tuft 1842 

16 Upon his want or wealth why fix a thought ? MS. 20 Or would the 
humour of our verse commend MS. 24 free] pure MS. 25-6 With 
which, though scorned, he seeks his part to fill MS. 28 gems shall deck] 
wreaths adorn MS. 
31-4 . . . when they this Plant espy 

Even though a sleety blast be whirling by MS. 


This child of Nature's own humility, 

What recompense is kept in store or left 

For all that seem neglected or bereft ; 

With what nice care equivalents are given, 35 

How just, how bountiful, the hand of Heaven. 




[Composed March, 1828. Published, as "The Country Girl", 1829 (The 

Keepsake); ed. 1832.] 

THAT happy gleam of vernal eyes, 
Those locks from summer's golden skies, 

That o'er thy brow are shed ; 
That cheek a kindling of the morn, 
That lip a rose-bud from the thorn, 5 

I saw ; and Fancy sped 

To scenes Arcadian, whispering, through soft air, 
Of bliss that grows without a care, 
And happiness that never flies 

(How can it where love never dies ?) 10 

Whispering of promise, where no blight 
Can reach the innocent delight ; 
Where pity, to the mind conveyed 
In pleasure, is the darkest shade 

That Time, un wrinkled grandsire, flings 15 

From his smoothly gliding wings. 

What mortal form, what earthly face 
Inspired the pencil, lines to trace, 
And mingle colours, that should breed 
Such rapture, nor want power to feed ; 20 

For had thy charge been idle flowers, 
Fair Damsel ! o'er my captive mind, 
To truth and sober reason blind, 
'Mid that soft air, those long-lost bowers, 
The sweet illusion might have hung, for hours. 25 

V. 1 gleam] smile MS. 9 And happiness 1837: Of loveliness MS. 

Of happiness 1829, 1832 11 so 1837: Of promise whispering, MS., 

1829, 1832 20 power] skill MS. 


Thanks to this tell-tale sheaf of corn, 
That touchingiy bespeaks thee born 
Life's daily tasks with them to share 
Who, whether from their lowly bed 
They rise, or rest the weary head, 30 

Ponder the blessing they entreat 
From Heaven, and feel what they repeat, 
While they give utterance to the prayer 
That asks for daily bread. 



[Composed ?. Published: vol. of 1842.] 

STAY, little cheerful Robin ! stay, 

And at my casement sing, 
Though it should prove a farewell lay 

And this our parting spring. 

Though I, alas! may ne'er enjoy 5 

The promise in thy song ; 
A charm, that thought can not destroy, 

Doth to thy strain belong. 

Methinks that in my dying hour 

Thy song would still be dear, 10 

And with a more than earthly power 

My passing Spirit cheer. 

Then, little Bird, this boon confer, 

Come, and my requiem sing, 
Nor fail to be the harbinger 15 

Of everlasting Spring. 

S. H. 


[Composed January, 1846. Published 1850.] 

I KNOW an aged Man constrained to dwell 
In a large house of public charity, 
Where he abides, as in a Prisoner's cell, 
With numbers near, alas ! no company. 
31 Ponder 1832: Do weigh MS., 1829 


When he could creep about, at will, though poor 5 

And forced to live on alms, this old Man fed 
A Redbreast, one that to his cottage door 
Came not, but in a lane partook his bread. 

There, at the root of one particular tree, 

An easy seat this worn-out Labourer found 10 

While Robin pecked the crumbs upon his knee 

Laid one by one, or scattered on the ground. 

Dear intercourse was theirs, day after day ; 

What signs of mutual gladness when they met ! 

Think of their common peace, their simple play, 15 

The parting moment and its fond regret. 

Months passed in love that failed not to fulfil, 

In spite of season's change, its own demand, 

By fluttering pinions here and busy bill ; 

There by caresses from a tremulous hand. 20 

Thus in the chosen spot a tie so strong 

Was formed between the solitary pair, 

That when his fate had housed him 'mid a throng 

The Captive shunned all converse proffered there. 

Wife, children, kindred, they were dead and gone ; 25 
But, if no evil hap his wishes crossed, 
One living Stay was left, and in that one 
Some recompense for all that he had lost. 

O that the good old Man had power to prove, 

By message sent through air or visible token, 30 

That still he loves the Bird, and still must love ; 

That friendship lasts though fellowship is broken ! 

VII. 6 When he was free to move about MS. 1 6 this old Man] he duly 
MS. 1 8 lane] grove MSS. 13 Thither alone he crept MSS. 

15 The common meal, the pastime grave or gay MSS. 
17-18 ... and love failed never to fulfil 

With the returning light, its fresh demand MSS. 

21 the chosen spot] that shady grove MSS. 23-4 That when com- 

pelled to house . . . The old Man shunned MSS. ; That when the aged Pauper 
. . . Was housed, he shunned MS. 2 24 proffered] that was MS. 25 
Wife, child and kindred all MS. 27 in MS. ; on 1850 
917.17 IV M 



[Composed 1846. Published 1850.] 

AFFECTIONS lose their object ; Time brings forth 

No successors ; and, lodged in memory, 

If love exist no longer, it must die, 

Wanting accustomed food, must pass from earth, 

Or never hope to reach a second birth. 5 

This sad belief, the happiest that is left 

To thousands, share not Thou ; howe'er bereft, 

Scorned, or neglected, fear not such a dearth. 

Though poor and destitute of friends thou art, 

Perhaps the sole survivor of thy race, 10 

One to whom Heaven assigns that mournful part 

The utmost solitude of age to face, 

Still shall be left some corner of the heart 

Where Love for living Thing can find a place. 


These lines are by the Author of the Address to the Wind, &c., published 
heretofore along with my poems. Those to a Redbreast are by a de- 
ceased female Relative. 

[Composed?. Published: vol. of 1842.] 

HARMONIOUS Powers with Nature work 
On sky, earth, river, lake and sea ; 
Sunshine and cloud, whirlwind and breeze, 
All in one duteous task agree. 

Once did I see a slip of earth 5 

(By throbbing waves long undermined) 

Loosed from its hold ; how, no one knew, 

But all might see it float, obedient to the wind ; 

VIII. 1 When Man's affections perish, Time etc. MS. 2 lodged in] 

in the MS. 3 . . exist not, it must droop and die MS. 5 To gain 
another world, a second birth MS. 6 Wanderer, this sad belief the 

happiest left MS. 2 8 fear] dread MS. 13 shall be] is there MS. 


Might see it, from the mossy shore 

Dissevered, float upon the Lake, 10 

Float with its crest of trees adorned 

On which the warbling birds their pastime take. 

Food, shelter, safety, there they find ; 

There berries ripen, flowerets bloom ; 

There insects live their lives, and die ; 15 

A peopled world it is ; in size a tiny room. 

And thus through many seasons' space 

This little Island may survive ; 

But Nature, though we mark her not, 

Will take away, may cease to give. 20 

Perchance when you are wandering forth 

Upon some vacant sunny day, 

Without an object, hope, or fear, 

Thither your eyes may turn the Isle is passed away ; 

Buried beneath the glittering Lake, 25 

Its place no longer to be found ; 
Yet the lost fragments shall remain 
To fertilise some other ground. 

D. W. 


[Composed ?. Published 1850.] 

How beautiful the Queen of Night, on high 

Her way pursuing among scattered clouds, 

Where, ever and anon, her head she shrouds 

Hidden from view in dense obscurity. 

But look, and to the watchful eye 

A brightening edge will indicate that soon 

We shall behold the struggling Moon 

Break forth, again to walk the clear blue sky. 


44 Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone 
Wi' the auld moone in hir arme." 

Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, 
Percy's Reliques. 
[Composed 1826. Published 1827.] 

ONCE I could hail (howe'er serene the sky) 
The Moon re-entering her monthly round, 
No faculty yet given me to espy 


The dusky Shape within her arms imbound, 

That thin memento of effulgence lost 5 

Which some have named her Predecessor's ghost. 

Young, like the Crescent that above me shone, 

Nought I perceived within it dull or dim ; 

All that appeared was suitable to One 

Whose fancy had a thousand fields to skim ; 10 

To expectations spreading with wild growth, 

And hope that kept me with her plighted troth. 

I saw (ambition quickening at the view) 

A silver boat launched on a boundless flood ; 

A pearly crest, like Dian's when it threw 15 

Its brightest splendour round a leafy wood ; 

But not a hint from under-ground, no sign 

Fit for the glimmering brow of Proserpine. 

Or was it Dian's self that seemed to move 

Before me ? nothing blemished the fair sight ; 20 

On her I looked whom jocund Fairies love, 

Cynthia, who puts the little stars to flight. 

And by that thinning magnifies the great, 

For exaltation of her sovereign state. 

And when I learned to mark the spectral Shape 25 

As each new Moon obeyed the call of Time, 

If gloom fell on me, swift was my escape ; 

Such happy privilege hath life's gay Prime, 

To see or not to see, as best may please 

A buoyant Spirit, and a heart at ease. 30 

Now, dazzling Stranger ! when thou meet'st my glance, 

Thy dark Associate ever I discern ; 

Emblem of thoughts too eager to advance 

While I salute my joys, thoughts sad or stern ; 

Shades of past bliss, or phantoms that, to gain 35 

Their fill of promised lustre, wait in vain. 

So changes mortal Life with fleeting years ; 

A mournful change, should Reason fail to bring 

The timely insight that can temper fears, 

And from vicissitude remove its sting ; 40 

While Faith aspires to seats in that domain 

Where joys are perfect neither wax nor wane. 




[Composed January, 1823. Published 1827.] 


BLEST is this Isle our native Land ; 
Where battlement and moated gate 
Are objects only for the hand 
Of hoary Time to decorate ; 

Where shady hamlet, town that breathes 5 

Its busy smoke in social wreaths, 
No rampart's stern defence require, 
Nought but the heaven-directed spire, 
And steeple tower (with pealing bells 
Far-heard) our only citadels. 10 


O Lady ! from a noble line 
Of chieftains sprung, who stoutly bore 
The spear, yet gave to works divine 
A bounteous help in days of yore, 
(As records mouldering in the Dell 15 

Of Nightshade 1 haply yet may tell ;) 
Thee kindred aspirations moved 
To build, within a vale beloved, 
For Him upon whose high behests 
All peace depends, all safety rests. 20 


How fondly will the woods embrace 
This daughter of thy pious care, 
Lifting her front with modest grace 
To make a fair recess more fair ; 
And to exalt the passing hour ; 25 

1 Bekangs Ghyll or the dell of the Nightshade in which stands St. 
Mary's Abbey in Low Furness. 

XII. 6 busy . . . social] tranquil . . . silver MS. 1 

21-3 so MS. 1, 1832: 

Even Strangers, slackening here their pace, 
Shall bless this work of pious care, 
Lifting its 1827 

21-30, 31-40 in reverse order 1827 


Or soothe it with a healing power 

Drawn from the Sacrifice fulfilled, 

Before this rugged soil was tilled, 

Or human habitation rose 

To interrupt the deep repose ! 3 


Well may the villagers rejoice! 

Nor heat, nor cold, nor weary ways, 

Will be a hindrance to the voice 

That would unite in prayer and praise ; 

More duly shall wild wandering Youth 35 

Receive the curb of sacred truth, 

Shall tottering Age, bent earthward, hear 

The Promise, with uplifted ear ; 

And all shall welcome the new ray 

Imparted to their sabbath-day. 40 


Nor deem the Poet's hope misplaced, 
His fancy cheated that can see 
A shade upon the future cast, 
Of time's pathetic sanctity ; 

Can hear the monitory clock 45 

Sound o'er the lake with gentle shock 
At evening, when the ground beneath 
Is ruffled o'er with cells of death ; 
Where happy generations lie, 
Here tutored for eternity. 5 


Lives there a man whose sole delights 
Are trivial pomp and city noise, 
Hardening a heart that loathes or slights 
What every natural heart enjoys ? 

26-8 With saintly thoughts on Him whose power 
The circuit of these mountains filled 
Ere the primaeval MS. 1 

31-50 not in MS. 1 32 Nor storms henceforth MS. 37 The aged 

shall be free to hear MS. 41-50 not in MS. 2 

41-6 so 1832: Not yet the corner stone is laid 

With solemn rite ; but Fancy sees 

The tower time-stricken, and in shade 

Embosomed of coeval trees ; 

Hears, o'er the lake, the warning clock 

As it shall sound with gentle shock 1827 


Who never caught a noon-tide dream 55 

From murmur of a running stream ; 

Could strip, for aught the prospect yields 

To him, their verdure from the fields ; 

And take the radiance from the clouds 

In which the sun his setting shrouds. 60 


A soul so pitiably forlorn, 

If such do on this earth abide, 

May season apathy with scorn, 

May turn indifference to pride ; 

And still be not unblest compared 65 

With him who grovels, self-debarred 

From all that lies within the scope 

Of holy faith and Christian hope ; 

Or, ship wreck 'd, kindles on the coast 

False fires, that others may be lost. 70 


Alas ! that such perverted zeal 
Should spread on Britain's favoured ground ! 
That public order, private weal, 
Should e'er have felt or feared a wound 
From champions of the desperate law 75 

Which from their own blind hearts they draw ; 
Who tempt their reason to deny 
God, whom their passions dare defy, 
And boast that they alone are free 
Who reach this dire extremity ! 80 

65 noon- tide] soothing MS. 1 

617 Fields sunset clouds and sky of morn 

Opening in splendor deep and wide 

That Worldling may renounce with scorn, 

And in his chosen seat abide ; 

A Spirit not unblest compared 

With One who fosters disregard 

For etc. MS. 1 
69-70 so 1827, 1845: 

Yea, strives for others to bedim 

The glorious Light too pure for him MS. 2, 1832-43; strives that 
lustre . . . For others, which has failed for him MS. 1 
71 perverted] distempered MS. 1 72 favoured] happy MS. 1 
75-6 From Scoffers leagued in desperate plot 

To make their own the general lot ; MS. 2 

From reckless (lawless) Men who etc. corr. to From impious Anarchists MS. 1 
78 dare] do MS. 1 



But turn we from these "bold bad" men ; 
The way, mild Lady ! that hath led 
Down to their "dark opprobrious den," 
Is all too rough for Thee to tread. 
Softly as morning vapours glide 85 

Down Rydal-cove from Fairfield's side, 
Should move the tenor of his song 
Who means to charity no wrong ; 
Whose offering gladly would accord 
With this day's work, in thought and word. 90 


Heaven prosper it ! may peace, and love, 

And hope, and consolation, fall, 

Through its meek influence, from above, 

And penetrate the hearts of all ; 

All who, around the hallowed Fane, 95 

Shall sojourn in this fair domain ; 

Grateful to Thee, while service pure, 

And ancient ordinance, shall endure, 

For opportunity bestowed 

To fcneel together, and adore their God ! 100 


Oh ! gather whencesoe'er ye safely may 
The help which slackening Piety requires ; 
Nor deem that he perforce must go astray 
Who treads upon the footmarks of his sires. 

Our churches, invariably perhaps, stand east and west, but why is by few 
persons exactly known ; nor that the degree of deviation from due east 
often noticeable in the ancient ones was determined, in each particular 
case, by the point in the horizon at which the sun rose upon the day of 
the saint to whom the church was dedicated. These observances of our 
ancestors, and the causes of them, are the subject of the following stanzas. 

[Composed 1823. Published 1827.] 

WHEN in the antique age of bow and spear 
And feudal rapine clothed with iron mail, 
Came ministers of peace, intent to rear 
The Mother Church in yon sequestered vale ; 

85-6 Soft as the morning mists that glide Through MS. 1 86 so 1832: 
Through Mosedale-cove from Carrock's side 1827 87 tenor] motion 

MS. 1 
XIII. 4 The Church that hallows yon MS. 1 


Then, to her Patron Saint a previous rite 5 

Resounded with deep swell and solemn close, 
Through unremitting vigils of the night, 
Till from his couch the wished-for Sun uprose. 

He rose, and straight as by divine command, 
They, who had waited for that sign to trace 10 

Their work's foundation, gave with careful hand 
To the high altar its determined place ; 

Mindful of Him who in the Orient born 

There lived, and on the cross his life resigned, 

And who, from out the regions of the morn, 15 

Issuing in pomp, shall come to judge mankind. 

So taught their creed ; nor failed the eastern sky, 

'Mid these more awful feelings, to infuse 

The sweet and natural hopes that shall not die, 

Long as the sun his gladsome course renews. 20 

For us hath such prelusive vigil ceased ; 

Yet still we plant, like men of elder days, 

Our Christian altar faithful to the east, 

Whence the tall window drinks the morning rays ; 

That obvious emblem giving to the eye 25 

Of meek devotion, which erewhile it gave, 
That symbol of the day-spring from on high, 
Triumphant o'er the darkness of the grave. 


[Composed 1806. Published 1807.] 

ERE the Brothers through the gateway 
Issued forth with old and young, 
To the Horn Sir Eustace pointed 
Which for ages there had hung. 

9 Straight, as if urged by a MSS. 14 and there a bitter death did find 

MS. 1 20 gladsome] vital MS. 1 

26-8 That emblem yielding as it fronts the source 

Of light restored which heretofore it gave 

Of dust enkindled and thy mouldered corse 

O Man ! resurgent from the gloomy grave. MS. 
XIV. 1-4 so 1845: 

When the Brothers reach'd the gateway, 

Eustace pointed with his lance 

To the Horn which there was hanging ; 

Horn of the inheritance. 1807-43 


Horn it was which none could sound, 5 

No one upon living ground, 

Save He who came as rightful Heir 

To Egremont's Domains and Castle fair. 

Heirs from times of earliest record 

Had the House of Lucie born, 10 

Who of right had held the Lordship 

Claimed by proof upon the Horn : 

Each at the appointed hour 

Tried the Horn, it owned his power ; 

He was acknowledged : and the blast, 15 

Which good Sir Eustace sounded, was the last. 

With his lance Sir Eustace pointed, 

And to Hubert thus said he, 

( What I speak this Horn shall witness 

For thy better memory. 20 

Hear, then, and neglect me not ! 

At this time, and on this spot, 

The words are uttered from my heart, 

As my last earnest prayer ere we depart. 

"On good service we are going 25 

Life to risk by sea and land, 

In which course if Christ our Saviour 

Do my sinful soul demand, 

Hither come thou back straightway, 

Hubert, if alive that day ; 30 

Return, and sound the Horn, that we 

May have a living House still left in thee!" 

"Fear not," quickly answered Hubert; 

"As I am thy Father's son, 

What thou askest, noble Brother, 35 

With God's favour shall be done." 

So were both right well content : 

Forth they from the Castle went, 

And at the head of their Array 

To Palestine the Brothers took their way. 40 

9 so 1845: Heirs from ages without record 1807-43 11 held 1846: 

claim'd 1807-43 12 Claimed by 1845: By the 1807-43 38 so 

1845: From the Castle forth they went, 1807-43 


Side by side they fought (the Lucies 

Were a line for valour famed) 

And where'er their strokes alighted, 

There the Saracens were tamed. 

Whence, then, could it come the thought 45 

By what evil spirit brought ? 

Oh ! can a brave Man wish to take 

His Brother's life, for Lands' and Castle's sake ? 

"Sir!" the Ruffians said to Hubert, 

"Deep he lies in Jordan flood." 5 

Stricken by this ill assurance, 

Pale and trembling Hubert stood. 

"Take your earnings." Oh! that I 

Could have seen my Brother die! 

It was a pang that vexed him then ; 55 

And oft returned, again, and yet again. 

Months passed on, and no Sir Eustace ! 

Nor of him were tidings heard ; 

Wherefore, bold as day, the Murderer 

Back again to England steered. 60 

To his Castle Hubert sped ; 

Nothing has he now to dread. 

But silent and by stealth he came, 

And at an hour which nobody could name. 

None could tell if it were night-time, 65 

Night or day, at even or morn ; 

No one's eye had seen him enter, 

No one's ear had heard the Horn. 

But bold Hubert lives in glee : 

Months and years went smilingly ; 70 

With plenty was his table spread ; 

And bright the Lady is who shares his bed. 

Likewise he had sons and daughters ; 

And, as good men do, he sate 

At his board by these surrounded, 75 

Flourishing in fair estate. 

62 so 1845: He has nothing 1807-43 
67-8 so 1845: For the sound was heard by no one 
Of the proclamation-horn. 1807-43 


And while thus in open day 

Once he sate, as old books say, 

A blast was uttered from the Horn, 

Where by the Castle-gate it hung forlorn. 80 

'Tis the breath of good Sir Eustace ! 

He is come to claim his right : 

Ancient castle, woods, and mountains 

Hear the challenge with delight. 

Hubert ! though the blast be blown 85 

He is helpless and alone : 

Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word ! 

And there he may be lodged, and thou be Lord. 

Speak ! astounded Hubert cannot ; 

And, if power to speak he had, 90 

All are daunted, all the household 

Smitten to the heart, and sad. 

'Tis Sir Eustace ; if it be 

Living man, it must be he ! 

Thus Hubert thought in his dismay, 95 

And by a postern-gate he slunk away. 

Long, and long was he unheard of: 

To his Brother then he came, 

Made confession, asked forgiveness, 

Asked it by a brother's name, 100 

And by all the saints in heaven ; 

And of Eustace was forgiven : 

Then in a convent went to hide 

His melancholy head, and there he died. 

But Sir Eustace, whom good angels 105 

Had preserved from murderers' hands, 

And from Pagan chains had rescued, 

Lived with honour on his lands. 

Sons he had, saw sons of theirs : 

And through ages, heirs of heirs, no 

A long posterity renowned, 

Sounded the Horn which they alone could sound. 



[Composed 1798. Published 1798.] 

OH ! what J s the matter ? what 's the matter ? 

What is 9 t that ails young Harry Gill ? 

That evermore his teeth they chatter, 

Chatter, chatter, chatter still ! 

Of waistcoats Harry has no lack, 5 

Good duffle grey, and flannel fine ; 

He has a blanket on his back, 

And coats enough to smother nine. 

In March, December, and in July, 

Tis all the same with Harry Gill ; 10 

The neighbours tell, and tell you truly, 

His teeth they chatter, chatter still. 

At night, at morning, and at noon, 

'Tis all the same with Harry Gill ; 

Beneath the sun, beneath the moon, 15 

His teeth they chatter, chatter still ! 

Young Harry was a lusty drover, 

And who so stout of limb as he ? 

His cheeks were red as ruddy clover ; 

His voice was like the voice of three. 20 

Old Goody Blake was old and poor ; 

111 fed she was, and thinly clad ; 

And any man who passed her door 

Might see how poor a hut she had. 

All day she spun in her poor dwelling : 25 

And then her three hours' work at night, 

Alas ! 'twas hardly worth the telling, 

It would not pay for candle-light. 

Remote from sheltered village-green, 

On a hill's northern side she dwelt, 30 

Where from sea-blasts the hawthorns lean, 

And hoary dews are slow to melt. 

XV. 21 Old 1802: Auld 1798-1800 

29-32 so 1837: This woman dwelt in Dorsetshire, 

Her hut was on a cold hill-side, 

And in that country coals are dear, 

For they come far by wind and tide. 1798-1815; 1820-32 
as text but sheltering (29) and in 1820 only Upon a bleak hill-side (30) 


By the same fire to boil their pottage, 

Two poor old Dames, as I have known, 

Will often live in one small cottage ; 35 

But she, poor Woman! housed alone. 

'Twas well enough, when summer came, 

The long, warm, lightsome summer-day, 

Then at her door the canty Dame 

Would sit, as any linnet, gay. 4 

But when the ice our streams did fetter, 

Oh then how her old bones would shake ! 

You would have said, if you had met her, 

'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake. 

Her evenings then were dull and dead : 45 

Sad case it was, as you may think, 

For very cold to go to bed ; 

And then for cold not sleep a wink. 

O joy for her! whene'er in winter 

The winds at night had made a rout ; 50 

And scattered many a lusty splinter 

And many a rotten bough about. 

Yet never had she, well or sick, 

As every man who knew her says, 

A pile beforehand, turf or stick, 55 

Enough to warm her for three days. 

Now, when the frost was past enduring, 

And made her poor old bones to ache, 

Could any thing be more alluring 

Than an old hedge to Goody Blake ? 60 

And, now and then, it must be said, 

When her old bones were cold and chill, 

She left her fire, or left her bed, 

To seek the hedge of Harry Gill. 

Now Harry he had long suspected 65 

This trespass of old Goody Blake ; 
And vowed that she should be detected 
That he on her would vengeance take. 
And oft from his warm fire he'd go, 
And to the fields his road would take ; 70 

And there, at night, in frost and snow, 
He watched to seize old Goody Blake. 
36 housed 1820: dwelt 1798-1815 55 turf 1827: wood 1798-1820 


And once, behind a rick of barley, 

Thus looking out did Harry stand : 

The moon was full and shining clearly, 75 

And crisp with frost the stubble land. 

He hears a noise he 's all awake 

Again ? on tip-toe down the hill 

He softly creeps 'tis Goody Blake ; 

She 's at the hedge of Harry Gill ! 80 

Right glad was he when he beheld her: 

Stick after stick did Goody pull : 

He stood behind a bush of elder, 

Till she had filled her apron full. 

When with her load she turned about, 85 

The by-way back again to take ; 

He started forward, with a shout, 

And sprang upon poor Goody Blake. 

And fiercely by the arm he took her, 

And by the arm he held her fast, 90 

And fiercely by the arm he shook her, 

And cried, "I've caught you then at last!" 

Then Goody, who had nothing said, 

Her bundle from her lap let fall ; 

And, kneeling on the sticks, she prayed 95 

To God that is the judge of all. 

She prayed, her withered hand uprearing, 

While Harry held her by the arm 

"God! who art never out of hearing, 

O may he never more be warm!" 100 

The cold, cold moon above her head, 

Thus on her knees did Goody pray ; 

Young Harry heard what she had said : 

And icy cold he turned away. 

He went complaining all the morrow 105 

That he was cold and very chill : 

His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow, 

Alas ! that day for Harry GiU ! 

That day he wore a riding-coat, 

But not a whit the warmer he : no 

Another was on Thursday brought, 

And ere the Sabbath he had three. 

86 by-way 1827: by-road 1798-1820 


'Twas all in vain, a useless matter, 

And blankets were about him pinned ; 

Yet still Ms jaws and teeth they clatter, 115 

Like a loose casement in the wind. 

And Harry's flesh it fell away ; 

And all who see him say, 'tis plain, 

That, live as long as live he may, 

He never will be warm again. 120 

No word to any man he utters, 

A-bed or up, to young or old ; 

But ever to himself he mutters, 

"Poor Harry Gill is very cold." 

A-bed or up, by night or day ; 125 

His teeth they chatter, chatter still. 

Now think, ye farmers all, I pray, 

Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill! 



[Composed March, 1842. Published: vol. of 1842.] 

IN desultory walk through orchard grounds, 

Or some deep chestnut grove, oft have I paused 

The while a Thrush, urged rather than restrained 

By gusts of vernal storm, attuned his song 

To his own genial instincts ; and was heard 5 

(Though not without some plaintive tones between) 

To utter, above showers of blossom swept 

From tossing boughs, the promise of a calm, 

Which the unsheltered traveller might receive 

With thankful spirit. The descant, and the wind 10 

That seemed to play with it in love or scorn, 

Encouraged and endeared the strain of words 

That haply flowed from me, by fits of silence 

Impelled to livelier pace. But now, my Book! 

Charged with those lays, and others of like mood, 15 

Or loftier pitch if higher rose the theme, 


Go, single yet aspiring to be joined 
With thy Forerunners that through many a year 
Have faithfully prepared each other's way 
Go forth upon a mission best fulfilled 20 

When and wherever, in this changeful world, 
Power hath been given to please for higher ends 
Than pleasure only ; gladdening to prepare 
For wholesome sadness, troubling to refine, 
Calming to raise ; and, by a sapient Art 25 

Diffused through all the mysteries of our Being, 
Softening the toils and pains that have not ceased 
To cast their shadows on our mother Earth 
Since the primeval doom. Such is the grace 
Which, though unsued for, fails not to descend 30 

With heavenly inspiration ; such the aim 
That Reason dictates ; and, as even the wish 
Has virtue in it, why should hope to me 
Be wanting that sometimes, where fancied ills 
Harass the mind and strip from off the bowers 35 

Of private life their natural pleasantness, 
A Voice devoted to the love whose seeds 
Are sown in every human breast, to beauty 
Lodged within compass of the humblest sight, 
To cheerful intercourse with wood and field, 40 

And sympathy with man's substantial griefs 
Will not be heard in vain ? And in those days 
When unforeseen distress spreads far and wide 
Among a People mournfully cast down, 
Or into anger roused by venal words 45 

In recklessness flung out to overturn 
The judgment, and divert the general heart 
From mutual good some strain of thine, my Book! 
Caught at propitious intervals, may win 
Listeners who not unwillingly admit 50 

Kindly emotion tending to console 
And reconcile ; and both with young and old 
Exalt the sense of thoughtful gratitude 
For benefits that still survive, by faith 
In progress, under laws divine, maintained. 55 

RYDAL MOUNT, March 26, 1842. 

917.17 IV 4 K 



[Composed 1834. Published 1835.] 
SMALL service is true service while it lasts : 
Of humblest Friends, bright Creature ! scorn not one : 
The Daisy, by the shadow that it casts, 
Protects the lingering dew-drop from the Sun. 



[Composed November 5, 1834. Published 1835.] 
LADY ! a Pen (perhaps with thy regard, 
Among the Favoured, favoured not the least) 
Left, 'mid the Records of this Book inscribed, 
Deliberate traces, registers of thought 

And feeling, suited to the place and time 5 

That gave them birth : months passed, and still this hand, 
That had not been too timid to imprint 
Words which the virtues of thy Lord inspired, 
Was yet not bold enough to write of Thee. 
And why that scrupulous reserve ? In sooth 10 

The blameless cause lay in the Theme itself. 
Flowers are there many that delight to strive 
With the sharp wind, and seem to court the shower, 
Yet are by nature careless of the sun 

Whether he shine on them or not ; and some, 15 

Where'er he moves along the unclouded sky, 
Turn a broad front full on his flattering beams : 
Others do rather frbm their notice shrink, 
Loving the dewy shade, a humble band, 
Modest and sweet, a progeny of earth, 20 

Congenial with thy mind and character, 
High-born Augusta ! 

Witness, Towers and Groves ! 
And Thou, wild Stream, that giv'st the honoured name 

XVII. In 1836 entitled "Written in an Album"; in 1837-43 "Written in 
the Album of a Child" 2 so 1845: Of Friends, however humble, 1836-43 


erewhile a willing Pen by thee MS. 


Of Lowther to this ancient Line, bear witness 

From thy most secret haunts ; and ye Parterres, 25 

Which She is pleased and proud to call her own, 

Witness how oft upon my noble Friend 

Mute offerings, tribute from an inward sense 

Of admiration and respectful love, 

Have waited till the affections could no more 30 

Endure that silence, and broke out in song, 

Snatches of music taken up and dropt 

Like those self-solacing, those under, notes 

Trilled by the redbreast, when autumnal leaves 

Are thin upon the bough. Mine, only mine, 35 

The pleasure was, and no one heard the praise, 

Checked, in the moment of its issue, checked 

And reprehended, by a fancied blush 

From the pure qualities that called it forth. 

Thus Virtue lives debarred from Virtue's meed ; 40 

Thus, Lady, is retiredness a veil 

That, while it only spreads a softening charm 

O'er features looked at by discerning eyes, 

Hides half their beauty from the common gaze ; 

And thus, even on the exposed and breezy hill 45 

Of lofty station, female goodness walks, 

When side by side with lunar gentleness, 

As in a cloister. Yet the grateful Poor 

(Such the immunities of low estate, 

Plain Nature's enviable privilege, 50 

Her sacred recompence for many wants) 

Open their hearts before Thee, pouring out 

All that they think and feel, with tears of joy ; 

And benedictions not unheard in heaven : 

And friend in the ear of friend, where speech is free 55 

To follow truth, is eloquent as they. 

Then let the Book receive in these prompt lines 
A just memorial ; and thine eyes consent 
To read that they, who mark thy course, behold 
A life declining with the golden light 60 

Of summer, in the season of sere leaves ; 

22-4 so 1837: . . . Towers, and stately Groves 

Bear witness for me ; thou, too, Mountain-stream! 1836 
40 lives debarred] is self-robbed MS. 


See cheerfulness undamped by stealing Time ; 

See studied kindness flow with easy stream, 

Illustrated with inborn courtesy ; 

And an habitual disregard of self 65 

Balanced by vigilance for others' weal. 

And shall the Verse not tell of lighter gifts 
With these ennobling attributes conjoined 
And blended, in peculiar harmony, 

By Youth's surviving spirit ? What agile grace ! 70 

A nymph-like liberty, in nymph-like form, 
Beheld with wonder ; whether floor or path 
Thou tread ; or sweep borne on the managed steed 
Fleet as the shadows, over down or field, 
Driven by strong winds at play among the clouds. 75 

Yet one word more one farewell word a wish 

Which came, but it has passed into a prayer 

That, as thy sun in brightness is declining, 

So at an hour yet distant for their sakes 

Whose tender love, here faltering on the way 80 

Of a diviner love, will be forgiven 

So may it set in peace, to rise again 

For everlasting glory won by faith. 


[Composed 1843. Privately printed 1843, published 1846.] 

AMONG the dwellers in the silent fields 

The natural heart is touched, and public way 

And crowded street resound with ballad strains, 

Inspired by ONE whose very name bespeaks 

Favour divine, exalting human love ; 

Whom, since her birth on bleak Northumbria's coast, 

Known unto few but prized as far as known, 

63-5 . . . feelingly allied 

With inborn courtesy ; in every act 
And habit utter disregard of Self MS. 
73 ao 1837: or on the managed steed art borne MS., 1835 
79-83 God's favour still vouchsafed, so may it set 
And be the hour yet distant for our sakes 
To rise again in glory won by Faith MS. 


A single Act endears to high and low 

Through the whole land to Manhood, moved in spite 

Of the world's freezing cares to generous Youth 10 

To Infancy, that lisps her praise to Age 

Whose eye reflects it, glistening through a tear 

Of tremulous admiration. Such true fame 

Awaits her now; but, verily, good deeds 

Do no imperishable record find 15 

Save in the rolls of heaven, where hers may live 

A theme for angels, when they celebrate 

The high-souled virtues which forgetful earth 

Has witness'd. Oh ! that winds and waves could speak 

Of things which their united power called forth 20 

Prom the pure depths of her humanity ! 

A Maiden gentle, yet, at duty's call, 

Firm and unflinching, as the Lighthouse reared 

On the Island-rock, her lonely dwelling-place ; 

Or like the invincible Rock itself that braves, 25 

Age after age, the hostile elements, 

As when it guarded holy Cuthbert's cell. 

All night the storm had raged, nor ceased, nor paused, 
When, as day broke, the Maid, through misty air, 
Espies far off a Wreck, amid the surf, 30 

Beating on one of those disastrous isles 
Half of a Vessel, half no more ; the rest 
Had vanished, swallowed up with all that there 
Had for the common safety striven in vain, 
Or thither thronged for refuge. With quick glance 35 

Daughter and Sire through optic-glass discern, 
Clinging about the remnant of this Ship, 
Creatures how precious in the Maiden's sight ! 
For whom, belike, the old Man grieves still more 
Than for their fellow-sufferers engulfed 40 

Where every parting agony is hushed, 
And hope and fear mix not in further strife, 
"But courage, Father! let us out to sea 
A few may yet be saved." The Daughter's words, 
Her earnest tone, and look beaming with faith, 45 

Dispel the Father's doubts : nor do they lack 
The noble-minded Mother's helping hand 

XIX 11 to] and 1843 


To launch the boat ; and with her blessing cheered, 

And inwardly sustained by silent prayer, 

Together they put forth, Father and Child ! 5 

Each grasps an oar, and struggling on they go 

Rivals in effort ; and, alike intent 

Here to elude and there surmount, they watch 

The billows lengthening, mutually crossed 

And shattered, and re-gathering their might ; 55 

As if the tumult, by the Almighty's will 

Were, in the conscious sea, roused and prolonged 

That woman's fortitude so tried, so proved 

May brighten more and more ! 

True to the mark, 

They stem the current of that perilous gorge, 60 

Their arms still strengthening with the strengthening heart, 
Though danger, as the Wreck is near'd, becomes 
More imminent. Not unseen do they approach ; 
And rapture, with varieties of fear 

Incessantly conflicting, thrills the frames 65 

Of those who, in that dauntless energy, 
Foretaste deliverance ; but the least perturbed 
Can scarcely trust his eyes, when he perceives 
That of the pair tossed on the waves to bring 
Hope to the hopeless, to the dying, life 70 

One is a Woman, a poor earthly sister, 
Or, be the Visitant other than she seems, 
A guardian Spirit sent from pitying Heaven, 
In woman's shape. But why prolong the tale, 
Casting weak words amid a host of thoughts 75 

Armed to repel them ? Every hazard faced 
And difficulty mastered, with resolve 
That no one breathing should be left to perish, 
This last remainder of the crew are all 

Placed in the little boat, then o'er the deep 80 

Are safely borne, landed upon the beach, 
And, in fulfilment of God's mercy, lodged 
Within the sheltering Lighthouse. Shout, ye Waves ! 
Send forth a song of triumph. Waves and Winds, 

66-7 As if the wrath and trouble of the sea 

Were by the Almighty's sufferance prolonged, 1843 
84 Pipe a glad song of triumph, ye fierce Winds! 1843 


Exult in this deliverance wrought through faith 85 

In Him whose Providence your rage hath served ! 

Ye screaming Sea-mews, in the concert join ! 

And would that some immortal Voice a Voice 

Fitly attuned to all that gratitude 

Breathes out from floor or couch, through pallid lips 90 

Of the survivors to the clouds might bear 

Blended with praise of that parental love, 

Beneath whose watchful eye the Maiden grew 

Pious and pure, modest and yet so brave, 

Though young so wise, though meek so resolute 95 

Might carry to the clouds and to the stars, 

Yea, to celestial Choirs, GRACE DARLING'S name! 



[Composed 1828. Published 1835.] 

ENOUGH of rose-bud lips, and eyes 

Like harebells bathed in dew, 
Of cheek that with carnation vies, 

And veins of violet hue ; 
Earth wants not beauty that may scorn 5 

A likening to frail flowers ; 
Yea, to the stars, if they were born 

For seasons and for hours. 

Through Moscow's gates, with gold unbarred, 

Stepped One at dead of night, 10 

Whom such high beauty could not guard 

From meditated blight ; 
By stealth she passed, and fled as fast 

As doth the hunted fawn, 
Nor stopped, till in the dappling east 15 

Appeared unwelcome dawn. 

86-6 not in priv. printed ed. 1843 

XX. THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE: Ina, or The Lodge in the Forest, A 
Russian Tale MS. 
*5-8 Earth lacks not beauty that will bear 

No etc. 
More lofty is its character 

More lasting are its powers. MS* 


Seven days she lurked in brake and field, 

Seven nights her course renewed, 
Sustained by what her scrip might yield, 

Or berries of the wood ; 20 

At length, in darkness travelling on, 

When lowly doors were shut, 
The haven of her hope she won, 

Her Poster-mother's hut. 

"To put your love to dangerous proof 25 

I come," said she, "from far ; 
For I have left my Father's roof, 

In terror of the Czar." 
No answer did the Matron give, 

No second look she cast, 3 

But hung upon the Fugitive, 

Embracing and embraced. 

She led the Lady to a seat 

Beside the glimmering fire, 
Bathed duteously her wayworn feet, 35 

Prevented each desire : 
The cricket chirped, the house-dog dozed, 

And on that simple bed, 
Where she in childhood had reposed, 

Now rests her weary head. 40 

When she, whose couch had been the sod, 

Whose curtain pine or thorn, 
Had breathed a sigh of thanks to God, 

Who comforts the forlorn ; 
While over her the Matron bent 45 

Sleep sealed^ her eyes, and stole 
Feeling from limbs with travel spent, 

And trouble from the soul. 

Refreshed, the Wanderer rose at morn, 

And soon again was dight 50 

In those unworthy vestments worn 

Through long and perilous flight ; 

30 caat; 1835 31 But] 1837: She 1835 33 the] 1837: her 1835 
45-8 Upon her lids with travel spent 

Sleep dropped, and gently stole 
(While o'er her head the Matron bent) 

Into her dreamless soul. MS. 


And "0 beloved Nurse," she said, 

"My thanks with silent tears 
Have unto Heaven and You been paid : 55 

Now listen to my fears ! 

"Have you forgot" and here she smiled 

"The babbling flatteries 
You lavished on me when a child 

Disporting round your knees ? 60 

I was your lambkin, and your bird, 

Your star, your gem, your flower ; 
Light words, that were more lightly heard 

In many a cloudless hour ! 

"The blossom you so fondly praised 65 

Is come to bitter fruit ; 
A mighty One upon me gazed ; 

I spurned his lawless suit, 
And must be hidden from his wrath : 

You, Foster-father dear, 70 

Will guide me in my forward path ; 

I may not tarry here ! 

"I cannot bring to utter woe 

Your proved fidelity." 
"Dear child, sweet Mistress, say not so! 75 

For you we both would die." 
"Nay, nay, I come with semblance feigned 

And cheek embrowned by art ; 
Yet, being inwardly unstained, 

With courage will depart." 80 

"But whither would you, could you, flee ? 

A poor Man's counsel take ; 
The Holy Virgin gives to me 

A thought for your dear sake ; 
Rest, shielded by our Lady's grace, 85 

And soon shall you be led 
Forth to a safe abiding-place, 

Where never foot doth tread." 

73-88 not in MS. 



THE dwelling of this faithful pair 

In a straggling village stood, 90 

For One who breathed unquiet air 

A dangerous neighbourhood ; 
But wide around lay forest ground 

With thickets rough and blind ; 
And pine-trees made a heavy shade 95 

Impervious to the wind. 

And there, sequestered from the sight, 

Was spread a treacherous swamp, 
On which the noonday sun shed light 

As from a lonely lamp ; 100 

And midway in the unsafe morass, 

A single Island rose 
Of firm dry ground, with healthful grass 

Adorned, and shady boughs. 

The Woodman knew, for such the craft 105 

This Russian vassal plied, 
That never fowler's gun, nor shaft 

Of archer, there was tried ; 
A sanctuary seemed the spot 

From all intrusion free ; no 

And there he planned an artful Cot 

For perfect secrecy. 

With earnest pains unchecked by dread 

Of Power's Jar-stretching hand, 
The bold good Man his labour sped 115 

At Nature's pure command ; 
Heart-soothed, and busy as a wren, 

While, in a hollow nook, 
She moulds her sight-eluding den 

Above a murmuring brook. 120 

93 lay] was MS. 101 And out of one a broad morass, 109-10 That 

no one ventured to the spot Belike from age to age MS. Ill an 

artful] a sylvan MS. 112 A lurking Hermitage. MS* 113 With 
tender care MS. 


His task accomplished to his mind, 

The twain ere break of day 
Creep forth, and through the forest wind 

Their solitary way ; 
Few words they speak, nor dare to slack 125 

Their pace from mile to mile, 
Till they have crossed the quaking marsh, 

And reached the lonely Isle. 
The sun above the pine-trees showed 

A bright and cheerful face ; 130 

And Ina looked for her abode, 

The promised hiding-place ; 
She sought in vain, the Woodman smiled ; 

No threshold could be seen, 
Nor roof, nor window ; all seemed wild 135 

As it had ever been. 
Advancing, you might guess an hour, 

The front with such nice care 
Is masked, "if house it be or bower/' 

But in they entered are ; 140 

As shaggy as were wall and roof 

With branches intertwined, 
So smooth was all within, air-proof, 

And delicately lined : 

And hearth was there, and maple dish, 145 

And cups in seemly rows, 
And couch all ready to a wish 

For nurture or repose ; 
And Heaven doth to her virtue grant 

That there she may abide 150 

In solitude, with every want 

By cautious love supplied. 
No queen before a shouting crowd 

Led on in bridal state, 
E'er struggled with a heart so proud, 155 

Entering her palace gate ; 

121 When all was finished MS. 122 The twain] Abroad MS. 123 
They thro' the houseless MS. 
137-9 Approaching etc. 

So nice the builder's care 
Whether it were a house or bower MS. 
150 there 1850: here 1835-45 154 bridal] pride and MS. 


Rejoiced to bid the world farewell, 

No saintly anchoress 
E'er took possession of her cell 

With deeper thankfulness. 160 

"Father of all, upon thy care 
v And mercy am I thrown ; 
Be thou my safeguard!'' such her prayer 

When she was left alone, 
Kneeling amid the wilderness 165 

When joy had passed away, 
And smiles, fond efforts of distress 

To hide what they betray ! 

The prayer is heard, the Saints have seen, 

Diffused through form and face, 170 

Resolves devotedly serene ; 

That monumental grace 
Of Faith, which doth all passions tame 

That Reason should control ; 
And shows in the untrembling frame 175 

A statue of the soul. 

'Tis sung in ancient minstrelsy 

That Phoebus wont to wear 
The leaves of any pleasant tree 

Around his golden hair ; 180 

Till Daphne, desperate with pursuit 

Of his imperious love, 
At her own prayer transformed, took root, 

A laurel in the grove. 

Then did the" Penitent adorn 185 

His brow with laurel green ; 
And 'mid his bright locks never shorn 

No meaner leaf was seen ; 
And poets sage, through every age, 

About their temples wound 190 

The bay ; and conquerors thanked the Gods, 

With laurel chaplets crowned. 

167-8 . . the sunshine of distress, 

That hide, yet more betray MS. 

172-3 Exalting lowly grace, A Faith MS. 181 flying from the suit 



Into the mists of fabling Time 

So far runs back the praise 
Of Beauty, that disdains to climb 195 

Along forbidden ways ; 
That scorns temptation ; power defies 

Where mutual love is not ; 
And to the tomb for rescue flies 

When life would be a blot. 200 

To this fair Votaress a fate 

More mild doth Heaven ordain 
Upon her Island desolate ; 

And words, not breathed in vain, 
Might tell what intercourse she found, 205 

Her silence to endear ; 
What birds she tamed, what flowers the ground 

Sent forth her peace to cheer. 

To one mute Presence, above all, 

Her soothed affections clung, 210 

A picture on the cabin wall 

By Russian usage hung 
The Mother-maid, whose countenance bright 

With love abridged the day ; 
And, communed with by taper light, 215 

Chased spectral fears away. 

And oft, as either Guardian came, 

The joy in that retreat 
Might any common friendship shame, 

So high their hearts would beat ; 220 

And to the lone Recluse, whate'er 

They brought, each visiting 
Was like the crowding of the year 

With a new burst of spring. 

But, when she of her Parents thought, 225 

The pang was hard to bear ; 
And, if with all things not enwrought, 

That trouble still is near. 

204-5 Nor were it labor vain 

To tell what company MS. 
209-16 not in MS. 


Before her flight she had not dared 

Their constancy to prove, 230 

Too much the heroic Daughter feared 

The weakness of their love. 

Dark is the past to them, and dark 

The future still must be, 
Till pitying Saints conduct her bark 235 

Into a safer sea 
Or gentle Nature close her eyes, 

And set her Spirit free 
From the altar of this sacrifice, 

In vestal purity. 240 

Yet, when above the forest-glooms 

The white swans southward passed, 
High as the pitch of their swift plumes 

Her fancy rode the blast ; 
And bore her toward the fields of France, 245 

Her Father's native land, 
To mingle in the rustic dance, 

The happiest of the band ! 

Of those beloved fields she oft 

Had heard her Father tell 250 

In phrase that now with echoes soft 

Haunted her lonely cell ; 
She saw the hereditary bowers, 

She heard the ancestral stream ; 
The Kremlin and its haughty towers 255 

Forgotten like a dream ! 


THE ever- changing Moon had traced 

Twelve times her monthly round, 
When through the unfrequented Waste 

Was heard a startling sound ; 260 

A shout thrice sent from one who chased 

At speed a wounded deer, 
Bounding through branches interlaced, 

And where the wood was clear. 

245 tow'rd 1835 fields] groves MS. 


The fainting creature took the marsh, 265 

And toward the Island fled, 
While plovers screamed with tumult harsh 

Above his antlered head ; 
This, Ina saw ; and, pale with fear, 

Shrunk to her citadel ; 270 

The desperate deer rushed on, and near 

The tangled covert fell. 

Across the marsh, the game in view, 

The Hunter followed fast, 
Nor paused, till o'er the stag he blew 275 

A death-proclaiming blast ; 
Then, resting on her upright mind, 

Came forth the Maid "In me 
Behold/' she said, "a stricken Hind 

Pursued by destiny! 280 

"From your deportment, Sir! I deem 

That you have worn a sword, 
And will not hold in light esteem 

A suffering woman's word ; 
There is my covert, there perchance 285 

I might have lain concealed, 
My fortunes hid, my countenance 

Not even to you revealed. 

"Tears might be shed, and I might pray, 

Crouching and terrified, 290 

That what has been unveiled to-day, 

You would in mystery hide ; 
But I will not defile with dust 

The knee that bends to adore 
The God in heaven ; attend, be just ; 295 

This ask I, and no more ! 

"I speak not of the winter's cold 

For summer's heat exchanged, 
While I have lodged in this rough hold, 

From social life estranged ; 300 

269-70 Affrighted Ina saw and heard 

And shrank into her cell: MS. 

272 To her dark threshold fell MS. 280 by evil destiny MS. 282 

worn] borne MS. 


Nor yet of trouble and alarms : 

High Heaven is my defence ; 
And every season has soft arms 

For injured Innocence. 

"From Moscow to the Wilderness 305 

It was my choice to come, 
Lest virtue should be harbourless, 

And honour want a home ; 
And happy were I, if the Czar 

Retain his lawless will, 31 

To end life here like this poor deer, 

Or a lamb on a green hill." 

"Are you the Maid/' the Stranger cried, 

"From Gallic parents sprung, 
Whose vanishing was rumoured wide, 3*5 

Sad theme for every tongue ; 
Who foiled an Emperor's eager quest ? 

You, Lady, forced to wear 
These rude habiliments, and rest 

Your head in this dark lair!" 320 

But wonder, pity, soon were quelled ; 

And in her face and mien 
The soul's pure brightness he beheld 

Without a veil between : 
He loved, he hoped, a holy flame 3 2 5 

Kindled 'mid rapturous tears ; 
The passion of a moment came 

As on the wings of years. 

"Such bounty is no gift of chance," 

Exclaimed he: "righteous Heaven, 33 

Preparing your deliverance, 

To me the charge hath given. 
The Czar full oft in words and deeds 

Is stormy and self-willed ; 
But, when the Lady Catherine pleads, 335 

His violence is stilled. 

31720 You, Lady, in those humble weeds 

Disguised, and here so long 
Hovel'd under heath and reeds 

The barren trees among ?" MS. 


"Leave open to my wish the course, 

And I to her will go ; 
From that humane and heavenly source 

Good, only good, can flow." 34 

Faint sanction given, the Cavalier 

Was eager to depart, 
Though question followed question, dear 

To the Maiden's filial heart. 

Light was his step, his hopes, more light, 345 

Kept pace with his desires ; 
And the fifth morning gave him sight 

Of Moscow's glittering spires. 
He sued : heart-smitten by the wrong, 

To the lorn Fugitive 35 

The Emperor sent a pledge as strong 

As sovereign power could give. 

O more than mighty change ! If e'er 

Amazement rose to pain, 
And joy's excess produced a fear 355 

Of something void and vain ; 
'Twas when the Parents, who had mourned 

So long the lost as dead, 
Beheld their only Child returned 

The household floor to tread. 360 

Soon gratitude gave way to love 

Within the Maiden's breast ; 
Delivered and Deliverer move 

In bridal garments drest ; 
Meek Catherine had her own reward ; 365 

The Czar bestowed a dower ; 
And universal Moscow shared 

The triumph of that hour. 

3378 Her will I seek along my course 

In confidence I go MS. 
341-4 This said, the gallant Cavalier 

Withdrew, ere full reply 
Was made to crowding questions, dear 

To filial piety. MS. 

347 fifth] third MS. and 1835 348 glittering] golden MS. 355 joy's 
excess] overjoy MS. and 1835 

917.17 IV O 


Flowers strewed the ground ; the nuptial feast 

Was held with costly state ; 370 

And there, 'mid many a noble guest, 

The Foster-parents sate ; 
Encouraged by the imperial eye, 

They shrank not into shade ; 
Great was their bliss, the honour high 375 

To them and nature paid ! 

369-72 Faith rules the song, nor deem it care 

Too humble to relate 
That at the Spousal feast the Pair 
Of rustic Guardians sate. MS. 




[Composed 1811. Published 1815.] 

THE embowering rose, the acacia, and the pine, 

Will not unwillingly their place resign ; 

If but the Cedar thrive that near them stands, 

Planted by Beaumont's and by Wordsworth's hands. 

One wooed the silent Art with studious pains : 5 

These groves have heard the Other's pensive strains ; 

Devoted thus, their spirits did unite 

By interchange of knowledge and delight. 

May Nature's kindliest powers sustain the Tree, 

And Love protect it from all injury ! 10 

And when its potent branches, wide out-thrown, 

Darken the brow of this memorial Stone, 

Here may some Painter sit in future days, 

Some future Poet meditate his lays ; 

Not mindless of that distant age renowned 15 

When Inspiration hovered o'er this ground, 

The haunt of him who sang how spear and shield 

In civil conflict met on Bosworth-field ; 

And of that famous Youth, full soon removed 

From earth, perhaps by Shakespeare's self approved, 20 

Fletcher's Associate, Jonson's Friend beloved. 


[Composed 1811. Published 1815.] 

OFT is the medal faithful to its trust 

When temples, columns, towers, are laid in dust ; 

And 'tis a common ordinance of fate 

That things obscure and small outlive the great : 

Hence, when yon mansion and the flowery trim 5 

Of this fair garden, and its alleys dim, 

I. 12/13 And to a favorite Resting-place invite, 

For coolness grateful and a sober light; MS., ] 81 5-20 
20 perhaps by] by mighty MS. 


And all its stately trees, are passed away, 

This little Niche, unconscious of decay, 

Perchance may still survive. And be it known 

That it was scooped within the living stone, 10 

Not by the sluggish and ungrateful pains 

Of labourer plodding for his daily gains, 

But by an industry that wrought in love ; 

With help from female hands, that proudly strove 

To aid the work, what time these walks and bowers 15 

Were shaped to cheer dark winter's lonely hours. 





[Composed November, 1811. Published 1815.] 

YE Lime-trees, ranged before this hallowed Urn, 

Shoot forth with lively power at Spring's return ; 

And be not slow a stately growth to rear 

Of pillars, branching off from year to year, 

Till they have learned to frame a darksome aisle ; 5 

That may recal to mind that awful Pile 

Where Reynolds, 'mid our country's noblest dead, 

In the last sanctity of fame is laid. 

There, though by right the excelling Painter sleep 

Where Death and Glory a joint sabbath keep, 10 

Yet not the less his Spirit would hold dear 

Self-hidden praise, and Friendship's private tear : 

Hence, on my patrimonial grounds, have I 

II. 10 scooped within] fashioned in MS. 

13-14 But by prompt hands of Pleasure and of Love 
Female and Male, that emulously strove MS. 
15-16 aid . . . shaped 1827: shape . . . framed MS., 1816-20 

III. 1 before] around MS. 

4-7 Bending your docile boughs from year to year 
Till in a solemn concave they unite, 
Like that Cathedral Dome beneath whose height 
Reynolds among our Country's noble Dead MS. 

5 Till they at length have framed 1815 

6-6 Till ye have framed at length . . . 

Like a Recess within that sacred Pile MS. 

13-14 my native grounds, unblamed, may I 
Raise MS. 

1316 Hence an obscure Memorial, without blame 

In these domestic grounds, may bear his Name ; 


Raised this frail tribute to his memory ; 

From youth a zealous follower of the Art 15 

That he professed ; attached to him in heart ; 

Admiring, loving, and with grief and pride 

Feeling what England lost when Reynolds died. 


[Composed November 19, 1811. Published 1815.] 

BENEATH yon eastern ridge, the craggy bound, 

Rugged and high, of Charnwood's forest ground, 

Stand yet, but, Stranger ! hidden from thy view, 

The ivied Ruins of forlorn GBACE DIEIJ ; 

Erst a religious House, which day and night 5 

With hymns resounded, and the chanted rite : 

And when those rites had ceased, the Spot gave birth 

To honourable Men of various worth : 

There, on the margin of a streamlet wild, 

Did Francis Beaumont sport, an eager child ; 10 

There, under shadow of the neighbouring rocks, 

Sang youthful tales of shepherds and their flocks ; 

Unconscious prelude to heroic themes, 

Heart-breaking tears, and melancholy dreams 

Of slighted love, and scorn, and jealous rage, 15 

With which his genius shook the buskined stage. 

Communities are lost, and Empires die, 

And things of holy use unhallowed lie ; 

They perish ; but the Intellect can raise, 

From airy words alone, a Pile that ne'er decays. 20 

Unblamed this votive Urn may oft renew 
Some mild sensations to his Genius due 
From One, a humble follower of the Art MS. 
IV. 7-8 But when the formal Mass had long been stilled 
And wise and mighty changes were fulfilled, 
That Ground gave birth to Men of various Parts 
For knightly services and liberal Arts ; MS. 

16 genius shook] skill inspired MS. 19 But Truth and Intellectual 

Power MS. 


' V 


[Composed 1800. Published 1800.] 

RUDE is this Edifice, and Thou hast seen 

Buildings, albeit rude, that have maintained 

Proportions more harmonious, and approached 

To closer fellowship with ideal grace. 

But take it in good part : alas ! the poor 5 

Vitruvius of our village had no help 

From the great City ; never, upon leaves 

Of red Morocco folio saw displayed, 

In long succession, pre-existing ghosts 

Of Beauties yet unborn the rustic Lodge 10 

Antique, and Cottage with verandah graced, 

Nor lacking, for fit company, alcove, 

Green-house, shell-grot, and moss-lined hermitage. 

Thou see'st a homely Pile, yet to these walls 

The heifer comes in the snow-storm, and here 15 

The new-dropped lamb finds shelter from the wind. 

And hither does one Poet sometimes row 

His pinnace, a small vagrant barge, up-piled 

With plenteous store of heath and withered fern, 

(A lading which he with his sickle cuts, 20 

Among the mountains) and beneath this roof 

He makes his summer couch, and here at noon 

Spreads out his limbs, while, yet unshorn, the Sheep, 

Panting beneath the burthen of their wool, 

Lie round him, even as if they were a part 25 

Of his own Household : nor, while from his bed 

He looks, through the open door-place, toward the lake 

And to the stirring breezes, does he want 

Creations lovely as the work of sleep 

Fair sights, and visions of romantic joy! 30 

WRITTEN ETC. 1802-5 

4-5 so 1837: To somewhat of a closer fellowship 

With the ideal grace. Yet as it is 

Dotakeit in good part, for he [alas ! 1815-32] the poor 1800-32 
7 upon 1837: on the 1800-32 9 so 1837: The skeletons and 1800-32 
10-13 so 1837: ... the rustic Box, 

Snug cot, with Coach-house, Shed and Hermitage. 1800-32 
14 Thou seest 1815: It is 1800-5 27 so 1837: He through that door- 
place looks 1800-32 




[Composed 1813. Published 1815.] 

STAY, bold Adventurer ; rest awhile thy limbs 

On this commodious Seat ! for much remains 

Of hard ascent before thou reach the top 

Of this huge Eminence, from blackness named, 

And, to far-travelled storms of sea and land, 5 

A favourite spot of tournament and war ! 

But thee may no such boisterous visitants 

Molest ; may gentle breezes fan thy brow ; 

And neither cloud conceal, nor misty air 

Bedim, the grand terraqueous spectacle, 10 

From centre to circumference, unveiled ! 

Know, if thou grudge not to prolong thy rest, 

That on the summit whither thou art bound, 

A geographic Labourer pitched his tent, 

With books supplied and instruments of art, 15 

To measure height and distance ; lonely task, 

Week after week pursued ! To him was given 

Full many a glimpse (but sparingly bestowed 

On timid man) of Nature's processes 

Upon the exalted hills. He made report 20 

That once, while there he plied his studious work 

Within that canvass Dwelling, colours, lines, 

And the whole surface of the out-spread map, 

Became invisible : for all around 

Had darkness fallen unthreatened, unproclaimed 25 

As if the golden day itself had been 

Extinguished in a moment ; total gloom, 

In which he sate alone, with unclosed eyes, 

Upon the blinded mountain's silent top ! 

VI. 1-4 Glad welcome bold Adventurer ! who at length 
By patient or impatient toil hast clomb 
This speculative Mount ; MS. 
7-13 But thee may no such visitants disturb 

May calm transpicuous air reward thy [ ] 

And cloud and haze and vapour be removed 

From the terrestrial Vision. On the crown 

Of this bare Eminence where now thou standst MS. 1 
12-13 Know that upon the Summit where thou stand'st MS. 22-3 

so 1837: suddenly The many coloured Map before his eyes 1816-32. so 
MS., but sight for eyes 29 mountain's] region's MS. 




[Composed 1800. Published 1800.] 

STRANGER ! this hillock of mis-shapen stones 

Is not a Ruin spared or made by time, 

Nor, as perchance thou rashly deem'st, the Cairn 

Of some old British Chief: 'tis nothing more 

Than the rude embryo of a little Dome 5 

Or Pleasure-house, once destined to be built 

Among the birch-trees of this rocky isle. 

But, as it chanced, Sir William having learned 

That from the shore a full-grown man might wade, 

And make himself a freeman of this spot 10 

At any hour he chose, the prudent Knight 

Desisted and the quarry and the mound 

Are monuments of his unfinished task. 

The block on which these lines are traced, perhaps, 

Was once selected as the corner-stone 15 

Of that intended Pile, which would have been 

Some quaint odd plaything of elaborate skill, 

So that, I guess, the linnet and the thrush, 

And other little builders who dwell here, 

Had wondered at the work. But blame him not, 20 

For old Sir William was a gentle Knight, 

Bred in this vale, to which he appertained 

With all his ancestry. Then peace to him, 

And for the outrage which he had devised 

Entire forgiveness ! But if thou art one 25 

On fire with thy impatience to become 

An inmate of these mountains, if, disturbed 

By beautiful conceptions, thou has hewn 

Out of the quiet rock the elements 

Of thy trim Mansion destined soon to blaze 30 

VII. 2 spared or made by 1837: of the ancient [antique MS.] 1800-32 
4-7 . . . British warrior, no, to speak 

An honest truth 'tis neither more nor less 

Than the rude germs of what was to have been 

A pleasure-house MS. 

6 so 1802: which was to have been built 1800 10 spot] rock MS. 

11 prudent Knight 1837: Knight forthwith 1800-32 


In snow-white splendour, think again ; and, taught 

By old Sir William and his quarry, leave 

Thy fragments to the bramble and the rose ; 

There let the vernal slow- worm sun himself, 

And let the redbreast hop from stone to stone. 35 


[Composed June 26, 1830. Published 1835.] 

IN these fair vales hath many a Tree 

At Wordsworth's suit been spared ; 
And from the builder's hand this Stone, 
For some rude beauty of its own, 

Was rescued by the Bard : 5 

So let it rest ; and time will come 

When here the tender-hearted 
May heave a gentle sigh for him, 

As one of the departed. 


[Composed 1826. Published 1835.] 

THE massy Ways, carried across these heights 
By Roman perseverance, are destroyed, 
Or hidden under ground, like sleeping worms. 
How venture then to hope that Time will spare 
This humble Walk ? Yet on the mountain's side 5 

31 splendour 1800, 1815: glory 1802-5 

MOUNT. 1835 

1 this fair Vale MS. 1 
3-5 The builder touched this old grey Stone 

'Twas rescued by the Bard; MS. 1 

He sav'd this old grey stone that pleas'd 

The grove-frequenting Bard MS. 3 
6-7 Long may it last ! and here, perchance, 

The good and tender-hearted MS. 

To let it rest in peace ; and here 

(Heaven knows how soon) the tender-hearted 1836, corr. to text in 
6-8 Long may it rest in peace and here 

Perchance the . . . 

Will MS. 2 

IX. INSOBIPTION. 1835. Intended to be placed on the door of the further 
Gravel Terrace if we had quitted Rydal Mount. MS. 1 once carried 
o'er these hills MS. 4 Time will spare] private claims Will from the 
injuries of time protect MS. 


A POET'S hand first shaped it ; and the steps 

Of that same Bard repeated to and fro 

At morn, at noon, and under moonlight skies 

Through the vicissitudes of many a year 

Forbade the weeds to creep o'er its grey line. 10 

No longer, scattering to the heedless winds 

The vocal raptures of fresh poesy, 

Shall he frequent these precincts ; locked no more 

In earnest converse with belovfed Friends, 

Here will he gather stores of ready bliss, 15 

As from the beds and borders of a garden 

Choice flowers are gathered ! But, if Power may spring 

Out of a farewell yearning favoured more 

Than kindred wishes mated suitably 

With vain regrets the Exile would consign 20 

This Walk, his loved possession, to the care 

Of those pure Minds that reverence the Muse. 



[This group (X-XIV) was composed 1818. Published 1820.] 


HOPES what are they ? Beads of morning 

Strung on slender blades of grass ; 

Or a spider's web adorning 

In a strait and treacherous pass. 

What are fears but voices airy ? 5 

Whispering harm where harm is not ; 
And deluding the unwary 
Till the fatal bolt is shot! 

IX. 68 steps . . . repeated ... at noon] foot f . . by pacing . . . and noon 
1120 Murmuring his unambitious verse alone 

Or in sweet converse with beloved Friends, 
No more must he frequent it. Yet might power 
Follow the yearnings of the spirit, he 
Reluctantly departing, woujd consign MS. 
21 loved] heart's MS. 

X. Before 1. 1 Methought that traversing a moorland waste 

I reached a shaggy deeply-cloven dell 

And found these melancholy fragments traced 

On the stone threshold of a Hermit's cell. MSS. 

4 Some strait and dangerous MS. 1 6 Whispering] Threatening MS. 2: 

Haunting Man where MS. 1 


What is glory ? in the socket 

See how dying tapers fare! 10 

What is pride ? a whizzing rocket 

That would emulate a star. 

What is friendship ? do not trust her, 

Nor the vows which she has made ; 

Diamonds dart their brightest lustre 15 

Prom a palsy-shaken head. 

What is truth ? a staff rejected ; 

Duty ? an unwelcome clog ; 

Joy ? a moon by fits reflected 

In a swamp or watery bog ; 20 

Bright, as if through ether steering, 
To the Traveller's eye it shone : 
He hath hailed it re-appearing 
And as quickly it is gone ; 

Such is Joy as quickly hidden, 25 

Or mis-shapen to the sight, 
And by sullen weeds forbidden 
To resume its native light. 

What is youth ? a dancing billow, 

(Winds behind, and rocks before!) 30 

Age ? a drooping, tottering willow 

On a flat and lazy shore. 

What is peace ? when pain is over, 

And love ceases to rebel, 

Let the last faint sigh discover 35 

That precedes the passing-knell ! 

17 staff] pearl MSS. 19 ao 1827: a dazzling moon 1820 20 watery] 
plashy MS. 1 22 Traveller's] Shepherd's MS. 2 
23-4 Can we trust its reappearing, 

No, 'tis dim, misshapen, gone MSS. 

25 so 1827: Gone, as if for ever hidden 1820: Bright, and in a moment 
hidden C 28 native] dazzling C 29 dancing] sparkling MS. 1 

30 Shaped, and instantly no more MS. 2 32 flat and lazy] melan- 

choly MS. 1 33-6 not in MSS. : in their place is No. XII, w/ra, but 

L 5 See yon undulating meadow MS. 1 




PAUSE, Traveller ! whosoe'er thou be 
Whom chance may lead to this retreat, 
Where silence yields reluctantly 
Even to the fleecy straggler's bleat ; 

Give voice to what my hand shall trace, 5 

And fear not lest an idle sound 
Of words unsuited to the place 
Disturb its solitude profound. 

I saw this Rock, while vernal air 

Blew softly o'er the russet heath, 10 

Uphold a Monument as fair 

As church or abbey furnisheth. 

Unsullied did it meet the day, 

Like marble, white, like ether, pure ; 

As if, beneath, some hero lay, 15 

Honoured with costliest sepulture. 

My fancy kindled as I gazed ; 

And, ever as the sun shone forth, 

The flattered structure glistened, blazed, 

And seemed the proudest thing on earth. 20 

But frost had reared the gorgeous Pile 
Unsound as those which Fortune builds 
To undermine with secret guile, 
Sapped by the very beam that gilds. 

And, while I gazed, with sudden shock 25 

Fell the whole Fabric to the ground ; 
And naked left this dripping Rock, 
With shapeless ruin spread around ! 

XI. 6-8 Bead thou what I shall here engrave 
And dread not that an idle sound 
Will break the peace which nature gave 
To this her MS. 
9 vernal] April MS. 




HAST thou seen, with flash incessant, 
Bubbles gliding under ice, 
Bodied forth and evanescent, 
No one knows by what device ? 

Such are thoughts ! A wind-swept meadow 5 

Mimicking a troubled sea, 

Such is life ; and death a shadow 

From the rock eternity ! 



TROUBLED long with warring notions 
Long impatient of Thy rod, 
I resign my soul's emotions 
Unto Thee, mysterious God ! 

What avails the kindly shelter 5 

Yielded by this craggy rent, 
If my spirit toss and welter 
On the waves of discontent ? 

Parching Summer hath no warrant 

To consume this crystal Well ; 10 

Rains, that make each rill a torrent, 

Neither sully it nor swell. 

Thus, dishonouring not her station, 

Would my Life present to Thee, 

Gracious God, the pure oblation 15 

Of divine tranquillity ! 

XII. (v. app. crit, to X. 33-6). 1 flash 1820 (Misc. Poems): train 1820 
(Duddon vol.) 

XIII. 8/9 Be my purpose one and single 

Give me the repose to feel 
Of this spring whose waters mingle 
With thy Servant's daily meal. MS. 
13 protected in her station MS. 



NOT seldom, clad in radiant vest, 
Deceitfully goes forth the Morn ; 
Not seldom Evening in the west 
Sinks smilingly forsworn. 

The smoothest seas will sometimes prove, 5 

To the confiding Bark, untrue ; 
And, if she trust the stars above 
They can be treacherous too. 

The umbrageous Oak, in pomp outspread, 

Full oft, when storms the welkin rend, 10 

Draws lightning down upon the head 

It promised to defend. 

But Thou art true, incarnate Lord, 

Who didst vouchsafe for man to die ; 

Thy smile is sure, Thy plighted word 15 

No change can falsify ! 

I bent before Thy gracious throne, 

And asked for peace on suppliant knee ; 

And peace was given, nor peace alone, 

But faith sublimed to ecstasy ! 20 



[Composed 1800. Published 1800.] 

IF thou in the dear love of some one Friend 

Hast been so happy that thou know'st what thoughts 

Will sometimes in the happiness of love 

Make the heart sink, then wilt thou reverence 

This quiet spot ; and, Stranger ! not unmoved 5 

XIV. 1-4 Not seldom they repent who rest 

Their hopes upon the flattering morn ; 

Oft lover-like the ruddy west 

Is etc. MS. 

9-12 not in MS. 18 on 1827: with MS., 1820 20 so 1827: faith 
and hope and MS., 1820 

XV. 1-14 so 1832: 1800-5 as text 1-4, but sick for sink 1802-5; and for 
11. 6-14: 


Wilt thou behold this shapeless heap of stones, 

The desolate ruins of St. Herbert's Cell. 

Here stood his threshold ; here was spread the roof 

That sheltered him, a self-secluded Man, 

After long exercise in social cares 10 

And offices humane, intent to adore 

The Deity, with undistracted mind, 

And meditate on everlasting things, 

In utter solitude. But he had left 

A Fellow-labourer, whom the good Man loved 15 

As his own soul. And, when with eye upraised 

To heaven he knelt before the crucifix. 

While o'er the lake the cataract of Lodore 

Pealed to his orisons, and when he paced 

This quiet spot St. Herbert hither came, 

And here, for many seasons, from the world 

Removed, and the affections of the world 

He dwelt in solitude. 1800-5 

This Island, guarded from profane approach 

By mountains high and waters widely spread. 

Is that recess to which St. Herbert came 

In life's decline ; a self-secluded Man, 

After long exercise etc. as text . . . things. 

Stranger ! this shapeless heap of stones and earth 

(Long be its mossy covering undisturbed!) 

Is reverenced as a vestige of the Abode 

In which, through many seasons etc. as 1800, 1815-20 

Stranger ! this shapeless heap of stones and earth 

Is the last relic of St. Herbert's Cell. 

Here stood his threshold ; here was spread the roof 

That sheltered him, a self-secluded Man etc. as text 1827 
MS. 1 as 1815, but Seclusion which . . . chose/or recess to which . . . came, and 

Hither he came in life's austere decline, 

And, Stranger ! this black heap etc. for Stranger ! this shapeless 

heap etc. 
MS 2, for Is that recess etc. has 

Gave to St. Herbert a benign retreat. 

Upon a Staff supported, and his Brow 

White with the peaceful diadem of age, 

Hither he came a self -secluded Man etc. to things 

Behold that shapeless heap etc. 

'Tis reverenced etc. 
14-15 But . . . labourer] He living here 

This Island's sole inhabitant ! had left 
A Fellow-labourer MS. and 1800 only 
16-17 so 1815: And when within his cave 
Alone he etc. 1800-5 


Along the beach of this small isle and thought 20 

Of his Companion, he would pray that both 

(Now that their earthly duties were fulfilled) 

Might die in the same moment. Nor in vain 

So prayed he : as our chronicles report, 

Though here the Hermit numbered his last day 25 

Far from St. Cuthbert his beloved Friend, 

Those holy Men both died in the same hour. 


[Composed ?. Published I860.] 

BEHOLD an emblem of our human mind 

Crowded with thoughts that need a settled home, 

Yet, like to eddying balls of foam 

Within this whirlpool, they each other chase 

Round and round, and neither find 5 

An outlet nor a resting-place ! 

Stranger, if such disquietude be thine, 

Fall on thy knees and sue for help divine. 

21 would pray 1802; had pray'd 1800 22 not in 1800-5 25 day 

1815: days 1800-5 

XVI. 1-4 Grant me, O blessed Lord, a mind 

In which my thoughts may have a quiet home 
Thoughts which now fret like balls of foam 
That in a whirlpool each the other chase MS. 




"Call up him who left half told 
The story of Carnbuscan bold." 

In the following Poem no further deviation from the original has been made 
than was necessary for the fluent reading and instant understanding of 
the Author: so much, however, is the language altered since Chaucer's 
time, especially in pronunciation, that much was to be removed, and its 
place supplied with as little incongruity as possible. The ancient accent 
has been retained in a few conjunctions, as also and alway, from a con- 
viction that such sprinklings of antiquity would be admitted, by persons 
of taste, to have a graceful accordance with the subject. [1820] The 
fierce bigotry of the Prioress forms a fine back -ground for her tender- 
hearted sympathies with the Mother and Child ; and the mode in which 
the story is told amply atones for the extravagance of the miracle. [1827] 

[Written December 4r-5, 1801. Published 1820.] 


"0 LORD, our Lord! how wondrously," (quoth she) 

"Thy name in this large world is spread abroad! 

For not alone by men of dignity 

Thy worship is performed and precious laud ; 

But by the mouths of children, gracious God ! 5 

Thy goodness is set forth ; they when they lie 

Upon the breast Thy name do glorify. 


"Wherefore in praise, the worthiest that I may, 
Jesu ! of Thee, and the white Lily-flower 
Which did Thee bear, and is a Maid for aye, 10 

To tell a story I will use my power ; 
Not that I may increase her honour's dower, 
For she herself is honour, and the root 
Of goodness, next her Son, our soul's best boot. 

I. 1-2 wondrously . . . large] marvellous . . . huge MS. 6 Thy bounty 
is performed MS. 7 glorify] magnify MS. 10 for aye] alway 

MS. 11 use] do MS. 

917.17 IV P 



"0 Mother Maid! O Maid and Mother free! 15 

bush unburnt! burning in Moses* sight! 
That down didst ravish from the Deity, 
Through humbleness, the spirit that did alight 
Upon thy heart, whence, through that glory's might, 
Conceived was the Father's sapience, 20 

Help me to tell it in thy reverence ! 


"Lady! thy goodness, thy magnificence, 

Thy virtue, and thy great humility, 

Surpass all science and all utterance ; 

For sometimes, Lady ! ere men pray to thee 25 

Thou goest before in thy benignity 

The light to us vouchsafing of thy prayer, 

To be our guide unto thy Son so dear. 


"My knowledge is so weak, O blissful Queen! 

To tell abroad thy mighty worthiness, 30 

That I the weight of it may not sustain ; 

But as a child of twelvemonths old or less, 

That laboureth his language to express, 

Even so fare I ; and therefore, I thee pray, 

Guide thou my song which I of thee shall say. 35 


"There was in Asia, in a mighty town, 

'Mong Christian folk, a street where Jews might be, 

Assigned to them and given them for their own 

By a great Lord; for gain and usury, 

Hateful to Christ and to His company ; 40 

And through this street who list might ride and wend ; 

Free was it, and unbarred at either end. 


"A little school of Christian people stood 
Down at the farther end, in which there were 
A nest of children come of Christian blood, 45 

24 Surpass] Passeth MS. 

27-8 And givest us the guidance of thy prayer 

To be a light unto etc. MS. 
42 For it was free and open MS. 43 Christian folk there stood MS. 


That learned in that school from year to year 
Such sort of doctrine as men used there, 
That is to say, to sing and read als6, 
As little children in their childhood do. 


4 'Among these children was a Widow's son, 50 

A little scholar, scarcely seven years old, 

Who day by day unto this school hath gone, 

And eke, when he the image did behold 

Of Jesu's Mother, as he had been told, 

This Child was wont to kneel adown and say 55 

Ave Marie, as he goeth by the way. 


"This Widow thus her little Son hath taught 

Our blissful Lady, Jesu's Mother dear, 

To worship aye, and he forgat it not ; 

For simple infant hath a ready ear. 60 

Sweet is the holiness of youth : and hence, 

Calling to mind this matter when I may, 

Saint Nicholas in my presence standeth aye, 

For he so young to Christ did reverence. 


"This little Child, while in the school he sate 65 

His Primer conning with an earnest cheer, 

The whilst the rest their anthem-book repeat 

The Alma Redemptoris did he hear ; 

And as he durst he drew him near and near, 

And hearkened to the words and to the note, 70 

Till the first verse he learned it all by rote. 


"This Latin knew he nothing what it said, 
For he too tender was of age to know ; 

51 scarcely] that was MS. 

667 . . . learning his little book 

As he sate at his primer in the school 

Where children learn the anthem-book by rule MS. 

71 And ... he knew it ... MS. 

72-6 This Latin wist he nought what it did say, 
For he so young and tender was of age ; 


But to his comrade he repaired, and prayed 

That he the meaning of this song would show, 75 

And unto him declare why men sing so ; 

This oftentimes, that he might be at ease, 

This child did him beseech on his bare knees. 


"His Schoolfellow, who elder was than he, 

Answered him thus : 'This song, I have heard say, 80 

Was fashioned for our blissful Lady free ; 

Her to salute, and also her to pray 

To be our help upon our dying day : 

If there is more in this, I know it not ; 

Song do I learn, small grammar I have got.' 85 


" c And is this song fashioned in reverence 
Of Jesu's Mother ?' said this Innocent ; 
'Now, certes, I will use my diligence 
To con it all ere Christmas-tide be spent ; 
Although I for my Primer shall be shent, 90 

And shall be beaten three times in an hour, 
Our Lady I will praise with all my power.' 


"His Schoolfellow, whom he had so besought, 

As they went homeward taught him privily 

And then he sang it well and fearlessly, 95 

From word to word according to the note : 

Twice in a day it passed through his throat ; 

Homeward and schoolward whensoever he went, 

On Jesu's Mother fixed was his intent. 


"Through all the Jewry (this before said I) 100 

This little Child, as he came to and fro, 
Full merrily then would he sing and cry, 
O Alma Redemptoris! high and low: 

But on a day his fellow he gan pray 

To expound to him the song that he might know 

Its proper meaning and why etc. MS. 

77 have his ease MS. 78 Prayed this child to him etc. MS. 85 Song 
do] The song MS. 


The sweetness of Christ's Mother pierced so 

His heart, that her to praise, to her to pray, 105 

He cannot stop his singing by the way. 


"The Serpent, Satan, our first foe, that hath 

His wasp's nest in Jew's heart, upswelled '0 woe, 

O Hebrew people!' said he in his wrath, 

'Is it an honest thing ? Shall this be so ? no 

That such a Boy where'er he lists shall go 

In your despite, and sing his hymns and saws, 

Which is against the reverence of our laws!' 


"From that day forward have the Jews conspired 

Out of the world this Innocent to chase ; 115 

And to this end a Homicide they hired, 

That in an alley had a privy place, 

And, as the Child 'gan to the school to pace, 

This cruel Jew him seized, and held him fast 

And cut his throat, and in a pit him cast. 120 


"I say that him into a pit they threw, 

A loathsome pit, whence noisome scents exhale ; 

O cursed folk ! away, ye Herods new ! 

What may your ill intentions you avail ? 

Murder will out ; certes it will not fail ; 125 

Know, that the honour of high God may spread, 

The blood cries out on your accursed deed. 


"O Martyr 'stablished in virginity! 

Now may'st thou sing for aye before the throne, 

Following the Lamb celestial," quoth she, 130 

"Of which the great Evangelist, Saint John, 

In Patmos wrote, who saith of them that go 

Before the Lamb singing continually, 

That never fleshly woman they did know. 

Ill list 1820 119 cruel] cursed MS. 122 Where[to] these Jews 
their things unclean did trail MS. 123 . . . O Herods old and new MS. 



"Now this poor Widow waiteth all that night 135 

After her little Child, and he came not ; 

For which, by earliest glimpse of morning light, 

With face all pale with dread and busy thought, 

She at the School and elsewhere him hath sought, 

Until thus far she learned, that he had been 140 

In the Jews' street, and there he last was seen. 


"With Mother's pity in her breast enclosed 

She goeth, as she were half out of her mind, 

To every place wherein she hath supposed 

By likelihood her little Son to find ; 145 

And ever on Christ's Mother meek and kind 

She cried, till to the Jewry she was brought, 

And him among the accursed Jews she sought. 


"She asketh, and she piteously doth pray 

To every Jew that dwelleth in that place 150 

To tell her if her child had passed that way ; 

They all said Nay ; but Jesu of His grace 

Gave to her thought, that in a little space 

She for her Son in that same spot did cry 

Where he was cast into a pit hard by. 155 


"O Thou great^God that dost perform Thy laud 

By mouths of Innocents, lo ! here Thy might ; 

This gem of chastity, this emerald, 

And eke of martyrdom this ruby bright, 

There, where with mangled throat he lay upright, 160 

The Alma Redemptoris 'gan to sing 

So loud, that with his voice the place did ring. 

137 at daybreak, soon as it was light MS. 144 To all and every place 

where she MS. 

153-4 Gave it to her in thought that in that place 

She for her little Son anon did cry MS. 
162 ... all the place therewith did ring. MS. 



"The Christian folk that through the Jewry went 
Come to the spot in wonder at the thing ; 
And hastily they for the Provost sent ; 165 

Immediately he came, not tarrying, 
And praiseth Christ that is our heavenly King, 
And eke His Mother, honour of Mankind : 
Which done, he bade that they the Jews should bind. 


"This Child with piteous lamentation then 170 

Was taken up, singing his song alw&y ; 

And with procession great and pomp of men 

To the next Abbey him they bare away ; 

His Mother swooning by the body lay : 

And scarcely could the people that were near 175 

Remove this second Rachel from the bier. 


"Torment and shameful death to every one 

This Provost doth for those bad Jews prepare 

That of this murder wist, and that anon : 

Such wickedness his judgments cannot spare ; 180 

Who will do evil, evil shall he bear ; 

Them therefore with wild horses did he draw. 

And after that he hung them by the law. 


"Upon his bier this Innocent doth lie 

Before the altar while the Mass doth last: 185 

The Abbot with his convent's company 
Then sped themselves to bury him full fast ; 
And, when they holy water on him cast, 
Yet spake this Child when sprinkled was the water ; 
And sang, Alma Redemptoris Mater! 190 


"This Abbot, for he was a holy man, 
As all Monks are, or surely ought to be, 
In supplication to the Child began 

174 body 1845: bier MS., 1820-43, 1850 
191-2 This Abbot who had been a holy man 

And was, as all monks are, or ought to be. MS. 


Thus saying, '0 dear Child ! I summon thee 

In virtue of the holy Trinity 195 

Tell me the cause why thou dost sing this hymn, 

Since that thy throat is cut, as it doth seem.' 


" 'My throat is cut unto the bone, I trow,' 

Said this young Child, 'and by the law of kind 

I should have died, yea many hours ago ; 200 

But Jesus Christ, as in the books ye find, 

Will that His glory last, and be in mind ; 

And, for the worship of His Mother dear, 

Yet may I sing, O Alma! loud and clear. 


" This well of mercy, Jesu's Mother sweet, 205 

After my knowledge I have loved alw&y ; 

And in the hour when I my death did meet 

To me she came, and thus to me did say, 

Thou in thy dying sing this holy lay/ 

As ye have heard ; and soon as I had sung 210 

Methought she laid a grain upon my tongue. 


" 'Wherefore I sing, nor can from song refrain, 

In honour of that blissful Maiden free, 

Till from my tongue off- taken is the grain ; 

And after that thus said she unto me ; 215 

'My little Child, then will I come for thee 

Soon as the grain from off thy tongue they take : 

Be not dismayed, I will not thee forsake!' 


"This holy Monk, this Abbot him mean I, 

Touched then his tongue, and took away the grain ; 220 

And he gave up the ghost full peacefully ; 

And, when the Abbot had this wonder seen, 

His salt tears trickled down like showers of rain ; 

And on his face he dropped upon the ground, 

And still he lay as if he had been bound. 225 

199 in my natural kind MS. 



"Eke the whole Convent on the pavement lay, 
Weeping and praising Jesu's Mother dear ; 
And after that they rose, and took their way, 
And lifted up this Martyr from the bier, 
And in a tomb of precious marble clear 230 

Enclosed his uncorrupted body sweet. 
Where'er he be, God grant us him to meet ! 


"Young Hew of Lincoln! in like sort laid low 

By cursed Jews thing well and widely known, 

For it was done a little while ago 235 

Pray also thou for us, while here we tarry 

Weak sinful folk, that God, with pitying eye, 

In mercy would his mercy multiply 

On us, for reverence of his Mother Mary!" 


[Written December 7-9, 1801. Published 1841 (R. H. Home's The Poems 
of Geoffrey Chaucer, Modernised) ; vol. of 1842.] 


THE God of Love ah, benedicite! 

How mighty and how great a Lord is he ! 

For he of low hearts can make high, of high 

He can make low, and unto death bring nigh ; 

And hard hearts he can make them kind and free. 5 


Within a little time, as hath been found, 
He can make sick folk whole and fresh and sound ; 
Them who are whole in body and in mind, 
He can make sick, bind can he and unbind 
All that he will have bound, or have unbound. 10 

231 They did enclose his little body sweet MS. 232 There he is now 

etc. MS. 
235 so 1837: 

For it was done but little while ago MS. 

For not long since was dealt the cruel blow 1820-32 
II. 3-4 High can he make the heart that 's low and poor 

The high heart low, and bring it to death's door MSS. 
(And high hearts low, through pains which [that] they endure MSS. alt.) 



To tell his might my wit may not suffice ; 
Foolish men he can make them out of wise ; 
For he may do all that he will devise ; 
Loose livers he can make abate their vice, 
And proud hearts can make tremble in a trice. 15 


In brief, the whole of what he will, he may ; 

Against him dare not any wight say nay ; 

To humble or afflict whome'er he will, 

To gladden or to grieve, he hath like skill ; 

But most his might he sheds on the eve of May. 20 


For every true heart, gentle heart and free, 

That with him is, or thinketh so to be, 

Now against May shall have some stirring whether 

To joy, or be it to some mourning ; never 

At other time, methinks, in like degree. 25 


For now when they may hear the small birds' song, 
And see the budding leaves the branches throng, 
This unto their rememberance doth bring 
All kinds of pleasure mix'd with sorrowing ; 
And longing of sweet thoughts that ever long. 30 


And of that longing heaviness doth come, 

Whence oft great sickness grows of heart and home ; 

Sick are they all for lack of their desire ; 

And thus in Ma^y their hearts are set on fire, 

So that they burn forth in great martyrdom. 35 


In sooth, I speak from feeling, what though now 
Old am I, and to genial pleasure slow ; 
Yet have I felt of sickness through the May, 

25 In no time else (corr. to At other time) so much, as thinketh me. MS. 
27 And see the leaves spring green and plentiful MS. 28 remember- 
ance MS., 1842: remembrance 1860 30 And lusty thoughts of mighty 
longing full. MS. 
36-7 And this of feeling truly have I spoken 

What though that I be old and now down broken MS. 


Both hot and cold, and heart-aches every day, 

How hard, alas ! to bear, I only know. 4 


Such shaking doth the fever in me keep 

Through all this May that I have little sleep ; 

And also 'tis not likely unto me, 

That any living heart should sleepy be 

In which Love's dart its fiery point doth steep. 45 


But tossing lately on a sleepless bed, 

I of a token thought which Lovers heed ; 

How among them it was a common tale, 

That it was good to hear the Nightingale, 

Ere the vile Cuckoo's note be uttered. 50 


And then I thought anon as it was day, 

I gladly would go somewhere to essay 

If I perchance a Nightingale might hear, 

For yet had I heard none, of all that year, 

And it was then the third night of the May. 55 


And soon as I a glimpse of day espied, 

No longer would I in my bed abide, 

But straightway to a wood that was hard by, 

Forth did I go, alone and fearlessly, 

And held the pathway down by a brook side ; 60 


Till to a lawn I came all white and green, 
I in so fair a one had never been. 
The ground was green, with daisy powdered over ; 
Tall were the flowers, the grove a lofty cover, 
All green and white ; and nothing else was seen. 65 


There sate I down among the fair fresh flowers, 
And saw the birds come tripping from their bowers, 

40 hard] sore MS. I only] no wight can MS. 45 In whom his 

fiery arrow love MS. 46-7 But on the other night as I lay waking 

... of Lovers making MS. 50 Before the sorry Cuckoo silence 

breaking. MS. 


Where they had rested them all night ; and they, 

Who were so joyful at the light of day, 

Began to honour May with all their powers. 70 


Well did they know that service all by rote, 

And there was many and many a lovely note, 

Some, singing loud, as if they had complained ; 

Some with their notes another manner feigned ; 

And some did sing all out with the full throat. 75 


They pruned themselves, and made themselves right gay, 

Dancing and leaping light upon the spray ; 

And ever two and two together were, 

The same as they had chosen for the year, 

Upon Saint Valentine's returning day. 80 


Meanwhile the stream, whose bank I sate upon, 

Was making such a noise as it ran on 

Accordant to the sweet Birds' harmony ; 

Methought that it was the best melody 

Which ever to man's ear a passage won. 85 


And for delight, but how I never wot, 

I in a slumber and a swoon was caught, 

Not all asleep and yet not waking wholly ; 

And as I lay, the Cuckoo, bird unholy, 

Broke silence, or I heard him in my thought. 90 


And that was right upon a tree fast by, 

And who was then ill satisfied but I ? 

Now, God, quoth I, that died upon the rood, 

From thee and thy base throat, keep all that's good, 

Pull little joy have I now of thy cry. 95 

70 Began to do the honours of the May. MS. 86-7 . . . know not 

well Into a ... I fell MS. 92 But who had then an evil game but 

I? MS. 



And, as I with the Cuckoo thus 'gan chide, 

In the next bush that was me fast beside, 

I heard the lusty Nightingale so sing, 

That her clear voice made a loud rioting, 

Echoing thorough all the green wood wide. 100 


Ah ! good sweet Nightingale ! for my heart's cheer, 

Hence hast thou stayed a little while too long ; 

For we have had the sorry Cuckoo here, 

And she hath been before thee with her song ; 

Evil light on her! she hath done me wrong. 105 


But hear you now a wondrous thing, I pray ; 

As long as in that swooning-fit I lay, 

Methought I wist right well what these birds meant, 

And had good knowing both of their intent, 

And of their speech, and all that they would say. no 


The Nightingale thus in my hearing spake : 

Good Cuckoo, seek some other bush or brake, 

And, prithee, let us that can sing dwell here ; 

For every wight eschews thy song to hear, 

Such uncouth singing verily dost thou make. 115 


What ! quoth she then, what is't that ails thee now ? 

It seems to me I sing as well as thou ; 

Foy mine 's a song that is both true and plain, 

Although I cannot quaver so in vain 

As thou dost in thy throat, I wot not how. 120 


All men may understanding have of me, 
But, Nightingale, so may they not of thee ; 

98 ... a Nightingale so gladly sing MS. 103 had 1842: heard 

MS., 1841 

111-13 . . . saith 

Now honest Cuckoo, go away somewhere, 

And let us that can sing inhabit here ; MS. 
115 ... is it in good faith. MS. 


For thou hast many a foolish and quaint cry: 

Thou say'st OSEB, OSEB, then how may I 

Have knowledge, I thee pray, what this may be ? 125 


Ah, fool ! quoth she, wist thou not what it is ? 

Oft as I say OSEE, OSEE, I wis, 

Then mean I, that I should be wonderous fain 

That shamefully they one and all were slain, 

Whoever against Love mean aught amiss. 130 


And also would I that they all were dead, 

Who do not think in love their life to lead ; 

For who is loth the God of Love to obey, 

Is only fit to die, I dare well say, 

And for that cause OSEE I cry ; take heed ! 135 


Ay, quoth the Cuckoo, that is a quaint law, 
That all must love or die ; but I withdraw, 
And take my leave of all such company, 
For mine intent it neither is to die, 
Nor ever while I live Love's yoke to draw. 140 


For lovers, of all folk that be alive, 

The most disquiet have and least do thrive ; 

Most feeling have of sorrow, woe and care, 

And the least welfare cometh to their share ; 

What need is there against the truth to strive ? 145 


What ! quoth she, thou art all out of thy mind, 

That in thy churlishness a cause canst find 

To speak of Love's true Servants in this mood ; 

For in this world no service is so good 

To every wight that gentle is of kind. 150 

123 nice and curious cry MS. 124 I've heard thee say Jug jug MS. 

127 As often as I say Jug jug MS. 135 OSEE] Jug jug MS. 

137-8 That all must love and perish shamefully, 
But I take leave MS. 



For thereof comes all goodness and all worth ; 

All gentiless and honour thence come forth ; 

Thence worship comes, content and true heart's pleasure, 

And full-assured trust, joy without measure, 

And jollity, fresh cheerfulness, and mirth ; 155 


And bounty, lowliness, and courtesy, 

And seemliness, and faithful company, 

And dread of shame that will not do amiss ; 

For he that faithfully Love's servant is, 

Rather than be disgraced, would chuse to die. 160 


And that the very truth it is which I 
Now say in such belief I'll live and die ; 
And Cuckoo, do thou so, by my advice. 
Then, quoth she, let me never hope for bliss, 
If with that counsel I do e'er comply. 165 


Good Nightingale ! thou speakest wondrous fair, 

Yet for all that, the truth is found elsewhere ; 

For Love in young folk is but rage, I wis ; 

And Love in old folk a great dotage is ; 

Who most it useth, him 'twill most impair. 170 


For thereof come all contraries to gladness ; 

Thence sickness comes, and overwhelming sadness, 

Mistrust and jealousy, despite, debate, 

Dishonour, shame, envy importunate, 

Pride, anger, mischief, poverty, and madness. 175 

151-3 . . . verily 

Thereof all honour and all gentleness, 

Thereof comes worship, hope, and all heart's pleasure, MS. 
152 gentiless 1842: gentleness 1841 155 And freshness, and delight, 
and jollity, MS. 160 had liefer die MS. 

161-5 And that then is the truth which now I say, 

In that belief I will both live and die, 

And, Cuckoo, eke do thou my counsel try. 

Then, quoth she, may no pleasure with me stay, 

If I that counsel ever do obey. MS. 
167 And yet the truth is contrary to this; MS. 



Loving is aye an office of despair, 

And one thing is therein which is not fair ; 

For whoso gets of love a little bliss, 

Unless it alway stay with him, I wis 

He may full soon go with an old man's hair. 180 


And, therefore, Nightingale! do thou keep nigh, 

For trust me well, in spite of thy quaint cry, 

If long time from thy mate thou be, or far, 

Thou'lt be as others that forsaken are ; 

Then shalt thou raise a clamour as do I. 185 


Fie, quoth she, on thy name, Bird ill beseen ! 
The God of Love afflict thee with all teen, 
For thou art worse than mad a thousand fold ; 
For many a one hath virtues manifold, 
Who had been nought, if Love had never been. 190 


For evermore his servants Love amendeth, 
And he from every blemish them defendeth ; 
And maketh them to burn, as in a fire, 
In loyalty, and worshipful desire, 
And, when it likes him, joy enough them sendeth. 195 


Thou Nightingale ! the Cuckoo said, be still, 
For Love no reason hath but his own will ; 
For to th' untrue he oft gives ease and joy ; 
True lovers dotfr so bitterly annoy, 
He lets them perish through that grievous ill. 200 


With such a master would I never be ;* 
For he, in sooth, is blind, and may not see, 
And knows not when he hurts and when he heals ; 
Within this court full seldom Truth avails, 
So diverse in his wilfulness is he. 205 

1 From a manuscript in the Bodleian, as are also stanzas 44 and 45 
II 841], which are necessary to complete the sense. [1842] 

192 And from all evil stains he MS. 200 That for distress of mind 

themselves they kill. MS. 



Then of the Nightingale did I take note, 

How from her inmost heart a sigh she brought, 

And said, Alas ! that ever I was born, 

Not one word have I now, I am so forlorn, 

And with that word, she into tears burst out. 210 


Alas, alas ! my very heart will break, 

Quoth she, to hear this churlish bird thus speak 

Of Love, and of his holy services ; 

Now, God of Love ! thou help me in some wise, 

That vengeance on this Cuckoo I may wreak. 215 


And so methought I started up anon, 

And to the brook I ran and got a stone, 

Which at the Cuckoo hardily I cast, 

And he for dread did fly away full fast ; 

And glad, in sooth, was I when he was gone. 220 


And as he flew, the Cuckoo, ever and aye, 

Kept crying, "Farewell! farewell, Popinjay!" 

As if in scornful mockery of me ; 

And on I hunted him from tree to tree, 

Till he was far, all out of sight, away. 225 


Then straightway came the Nightingale to me, 

And said, Forsooth, my friend, do I thank thee, 

That thou wert near to rescue me ; and now, 

Unto the God of Love I make a vow, 

That all this May I will thy songstress be. 230 

207 How that she cast a sigh from out her throat, MS. 

21625 Methought that he did then start up anon, 
And glad was I, in truth, that he was gone, 
And ever as the Cuckoo flew away 
He cried out farewell, farewell Popinjay 
As though he had been scorning me alone. MS. 

227-8 And "Friend" she said, "I thank thee gratefully 
That thou hast been my rescue, and I now MS. 

229 I] do MS. 
917.17 TV Q 



Well satisfied, I thanked her, and she said, 

By this mishap no longer be dismayed, 

Though thou the Cuckoo heard, ere thou heard'st me ; 

Yet if I live it shall amended be, 

When next May comes, if I am not afraid. 235 


And one thing will I counsel thee als6, 
The Cuckoo trust not thou, nor his Love's saw ; 
All that she said is an outrageous lie. 
Nay, nothing shall me bring thereto, quoth I, 
For Love, and it hath done me mighty woe. 240 


Yea, hath it ? use, quoth she, this medicine ; 
This May-time, every day before thou dine, 
Go look on the fresh daisy ; then say I, 
Although for pain thou may'st be like to die, 
Thou wilt be eased, and less wilt droop and pine. 245 


And mind always that thou be good and true, 
And I will sing one song, of many new, 
For love of thee, as loud as I may cry ; 
And then did she begin this song full high, 
"Beshrew all them that are in love untrue." 250 


And soon as she had sung it to the end, 
Now farewell, quoth she, for I hence must wend ; 
And, God of Love, that can right well and may, 
Send unto thee as mickle joy this day, 
As ever he to Lover yet did send. 255 


Thus takes the Nightingale her leave of me ; 
I pray to God with her always to be, 
And joy of love to send her evermore ; 

2312 I gave her [ ?] thanks and was well paid 

Yea, said she then, and be thou not dismayed MS. 

237-8 Believe thou not the Cuckoo, no, no, no ! 
For he hath spoken etc. MS. 

243-5 On the fresh daisy go and cast thine eye 

And though for woe at point of death thou lie 
'Twill greatly ease thee, and thou less wilt pine. MS. 

246 mind] look MS. 


And shield us from the Cuckoo and her lore, 

For there is not so false a bird as she. 260 


Forth then she flew, the gentle Nightingale, 
To all the Birds that lodged within that dale, 
And gathered each and all into one place ; 
And them besought to hear her doleful case, 
And thus it was that she began her tale. 265 


The Cuckoo 'tis not well that I should hide 
How she and I did each the other chide, 
And without ceasing, since it was daylight ; 
And now I pray you all to do me right 
Of that false Bird whom Love can not abide. 270 


Then spake one Bird, and full assent all gave ; 
This matter asketh counsel good as grave, 
For birds we are all here together brought ; 
And, in good sooth, the Cuckoo here is not ; 
And therefore we a Parliament will have. 275 


And thereat shall the Eagle be our Lord, 
And other Peers whose names are on record ; 
A summons to the Cuckoo shall be sent, 
And judgment there be given ; or that intent 
Failing, we finally shall make accord. 280 


And all this shall be done, without a nay, 
The morrow after Saint Valentine's day, 
Under a maple that is well beseen, 
Before the chamber- window of the Queen, 
At Woodstock, on the meadow green and gay. 285 


She thanked them ; and then her leave she took, 

And flew into a hawthorn by that brook ; 

And there she sate and sung upon that tree 

'Tor term of life Love shall have hold of me" 

So loudly, that I with that song awoke. 290 

260 MS. ends here and Finis is written. 


Unlearned Book and rude, as well I know, 

For beauty thou hast none, nor eloquence, 

Who did on thee the hardiness bestow 

To appear before my Lady ? but a sense 

Thou surely hast of her benevolence, 295 

Whereof her hourly bearing proof doth give ; 

For of all good she is the best alive. 

Alas, poor Book ! for thy unworthiness, 

To show to her some pleasant meanings writ 

In winning words, since through her gentiless, 300 

Thee she accepts as for her service fit ! 

Oh ! it repents me I have neither wit 

Nor leisure unto thee more worth to give ; 

For of all good she is the best alive. 

Beseech her meekly with all lowliness, 35 

Though I be far from her I reverence, 

To think upon my truth and stedfastness, 

And to abridge my sorrow's violence, 

Caused by the wish, as knows your sapience, 

She of her liking proof to me would give ; 310 

For of all good she is the best alive. 


Pleasure's Aurora, Day of gladsomeness ! 
Luna by night, with heavenly influence 
Illumined ! root of beauty and goodnesse, 
Write, and allay, by your beneficence, 315 

My sighs breathed forth in silence, comfort give ! 
Since of aD good you are the best alive. 


[Written 1801. Same dates of publication as II.] 

NEXT morning Troilus began to clear 
His eyes from sleep, at the first break of day, 
And unto Pandarus, his own Brother dear, 
For love of God, full piteously did say, 
We must the Palace see of Cresida ; 5 

300 gentiless 1842: gentleness 1841 



For since we yet may have no other feast, 
Let us behold her Palace at the least ! 

And therewithal to cover his intent 

A cause he found into the Town to go, 

And they right forth to Cresid's Palace went ; 10 

But, Lord, this simple Troilus was woe, 

Him thought his sorrowful heart would break in two ; 

For when he saw her doors fast bolted all, 

Well nigh for sorrow down he 'gan to fall. 

Therewith when this true Lover 'gan behold, 15 

How shut was every window of the place, 

Like frost he thought his heart was icy cold ; 

For which, with changed, pale, and deadly face, 

Without word uttered, forth he 'gan to pace ; 

And on his purpose bent so fast to ride, 20 

That no wight his continuance espied. 

Then said he thus, Palace desolate! 

O house of houses, once so richly dight ! 

O Palace empty and disconsolate ! 

Thou lamp of which extinguished is the light ; 25 

O Palace whilom day that now art night, 

Thou ought'st to fall and I to die ; since she 

Is gone who held us both in sovereignty. 

O, of all houses once the crowned boast ! 

Palace illumined with the sun of bliss ; 30 

O ring of which the ruby now is lost, 

O cause of woe, that cause has been of bliss : 

Yet, since I may no better, would I kiss 

Thy cold doors ; but I dare not for this rout ; 

Farewell, thou shrine of which the Saint is out ! 35 

Therewith he cast on Pandarus an eye, 

With changed face, and piteous to behold ; 

And when he might his time aright espy, 

Aye as he rode, to Pandarus he told 

Both his new sorrow and his joys of old 40 

So piteously, and with so dead a hue, 

That every wight might on his sorrow rue. 

12 break 1842: burst 1841 32 has 1842: hast 1841 36 an 

1842: his 1841 


Forth from the spot he rideth up and down, 

And everything to his remember&nce 

Came as he rode by places of the town 45 

Where he had felt such perfect pleasure once. 

Lo, yonder saw I mine own Lady dance, 

And in that Temple she with her bright eyes, 

My Lady dear, first bound me captive- wise. 

And yonder with joy-smitten heart have I 5 

Heard my own Cresid's laugh ; and once at play 

I yonder saw her eke full blissfully ; 

And yonder once she unto me 'gan say 

Now, my sweet Troilus, love me well, I pray! 

And there so graciously did me behold, 55 

That hers unto the death my heart I hold. 

And at the corner of that self-same house 

Heard I my most beloved Lady dear, 

So womanly, with voice melodious 

Singing so well, so goodly, and so clear, 60 

That in my soul methinks I yet do hear 

The blissful sound ; and in that very place 

My Lady first me took unto her grace. 

blissful God of Love ! then thus he cried, 

When I the process have in memory, 65 

How thou hast wearied me on every side, 

Men thence a book might make, a history ; 

What need to seek a conquest over me, 

Since I am wholly at thy will ? what joy 

Hast thou thy own liege subjects to destroy ? 70 

Dread Lord ! so fearful when provoked, thine ire 
Well hast thou wreaked on me by pain and grief; 
Now mercy, Lord ! thou know'st well I desire 

49 First caught me captive my true Lady dear. MS. 
50-2 And yonder have I heard full lustily 

My dear heart Cresseid laugh ; and yonder play 

I saw her also once etc. MS. 
55 And here so goodly did she me behold MS. 

57 corner there of yonder house MS. corr. to text 58 most] own MS. 

62 Yonder in that same place MS. 68 on me to seek a victory MS. 

71-2 Well hast thou Lord! on me avenged thine ire, 

Thou mighty God, Sovereign of joy and grief; MS. 


Thy grace above all pleasures first and chief; 

And live and die I will in thy belief; 75 

For which I ask for guerdon but one boon, 

That Cresida again thou send me soon. 

Constrain her heart as quickly to return, 

As thou dost mine with longing her to see, 

Then know I well that she would not sojourn. 80 

Now, blissful Lord, so cruel do not be 

Unto the blood of Troy, I pray of thee, 

As Juno was unto the Theban blood, 

From whence to Thebes came griefs in multitude. 

And after this he to the gate did go 85 

Whence Cresid rode, as if in haste she was ; 

And up and down there went, and to and fro, 

And to himself full oft he said, alas ! 

From hence my hope and solace forth did pass. 

would the blissful God now for his joy, 90 

1 might her see again coming to Troy ! 

And up to yonder hill was I her guide ; 

Alas, and there I took of her my leave ; 

Yonder I saw her to her Father ride, 

For very grief of which my heart shall cleave ; 95 

And hither home I came when it was eve ; 

And here I dwell an outcast from all joy, 

And shall, unless I see her soon in Troy. 

And of himself did he imagine oft, 

That he was blighted, pale, and waxen less 100 

Than he was wont ; and that in whispers soft 

Men said, what may it be, can no one guess 

Why Troilus hath all this heaviness ? 

All which he of himself conceited wholly 

Out of his weakness and his melancholy. 105 

Another time he took into his head, 

That every wight, who in the way passed by, 

Had of him ruth, and fancied that they said, 

I am right sorry Troilus will die : 

And thus a day or two drove wearily ; no 

77 That Cressida thou send me again but soon MS. 78 quickly] 

strongly MS. 98 And shall till I may see her back in Troy. MS. 


As ye have heard ; such life 'gan he to lead 
As one that standeth betwixt hope and dread. 

For which it pleased him in his songs to show 

The occasion of his woe, as best he might ; 

And made a fitting song, of words but few, 115 

Somewhat his woeful heart to make more light ; 

And when he was removed from all men's sight, 

With a soft voice, he of his Lady dear, 

That absent was, 'gan sing as ye may hear. 

star, of which I lost have all the light, 120 
With a sore heart well ought I to bewail, 

That ever dark in torment, night by night, 

Toward my death with wind I steer and sail ; 

For which upon the tenth night if thou fail 

With thy bright beams to guide me but one hour, 125 

My ship and me Charybdis will devour. 

As soon as he this song had thus sung through, 

He fell again into his sorrows old ; 

And every night, as was his wont to do, 

Troilus stood the bright moon to behold ; 130 

And all his trouble to the moon he told, 

And said : I wis, when thou art horn'd anew, 

1 shall be glad if all the world be true. 

Thy horns were old as now upon that morrow, 

When hence did journey my bright Lady dear, 135 

That cause is of my torment and my sorrow ; 

For which, oh, gentle Luna, bright and clear, 

For love of God, run fast about thy sphere ; 

For when tliy horns begin once more to spring, 

Then shall she come, that with her bliss may bring. 140 

The day is more, and longer every night 

Than they were wont to be for he thought so ; 

And that the sun did take his course not right, 

By longer way than he was wont to go ; 

And said, I am in constant dread I trow, 145 

That Phaeton his son is yet alive, 

His too fond father's car amiss to drive. 

118 soft voice 1841 : soft night voice 1842-50 
138 about] above 1841-50 


Upon the walls fast also would he walk, 

To the end that he the Grecian host might see ; 

And ever thus he to himself would talk : 150 

Lo ! yonder is my own bright Lady free ; 

Or yonder is it that the tents must be ; 

And thence does come this air which is so sweet, 

That in my soul I feel the joy of it. 

And certainly this wind, that more and more 155 

By moments thus increaseth in my face, 

Is of my Lady's sighs heavy and sore ; 

I prove it thus ; for in no other space 

Of all this town, save only in this place, 

Feel I a wind, that soundeth so like pain ; 160 

It saith, Alas, why severed are we twain ? 

A weary while in pain he tosseth thus, 

Till fully passed and gone was the ninth night ; 

And ever at his side stood Pandarus, 

Who busily made use of all his might 165 

To comfort him, and make his heart more light ; 

Giving him always hope, that she the morrow 

Of the tenth day will come, and end his sorrow. 

151 my 1842: mine 1841 




The class of Beggars, to which the Old Man here described belongs, will 
probably soon be extinct. It consisted of poor, and, mostly, old and infirm 
persons, who confined themselves to a stated round in their neighbour- 
hood, and had certain fixed days, on which, at different houses, they 
regularly received alms, sometimes in money, but mostly in provisions. 

[Composed 1797. Published 1800.] 

I SAW an aged Beggar in my walk ; 

And he was seated, by the highway side, 

On a low structure of rude masonry 

Built at the foot of a huge hill, that they 

Who lead their horses down the steep rough road 5 

May thence remount at ease. The aged Man 

Had placed his staff across the broad smooth stone 

That overlays the pile ; and, from a bag 

All white with flour, the dole of village dames, 

He drew his scraps and fragments, one by one ; 10 

And scanned them with a fixed and serious look 

Of idle computation. In the sun, 

Upon the second step of that small pile, 

Surrounded by those wild unpeopled hills, 

He sat, and ate his food in solitude : 15 

And ever, scattered from his palsied hand, 

That, still attempting to prevent the waste, 

Was baffled still, the crumbs in little showers 

Fell on the ground ; and the small mountain birds, 

Not venturing yet to peck their destined meal, 20 

Approached within the length of half his staff. 

Him from my childhood have I known ; and then 
He was so old, he seems not older now ; 
He travels on, a solitary Man, 
So helpless in appearance, that for him 25 

I. THE BEGQAB MS. The words A Description added to title 1800- 20 
4 Built] Placed MS. 15 sat, and ate 1805: sate, and eat 1800-2 


The sauntering Horseman throws not with a slack 

And careless hand his alms upon the ground, 

But stops, that he may safely lodge the coin 

Within the old Man's hat ; nor quits him so, 

But still, when he has given his horse the rein, 30 

Watches the aged Beggar with a look 

Sidelong, and half-reverted. She who tends 

The toll-gate, when in summer at her door 

She turns her wheel, if on the road she sees 

The aged Beggar coming, quits her work, 35 

And lifts the latch for him that he may pass. 

The post-boy, when his rattling wheels overtake 

The aged Beggar in the woody lane, 

Shouts to him from behind ; and, if thus warned 

The old man does not change his course, the boy 40 

Turns with less noisy wheels to the roadside, 

And passes gently by, without a curse 

Upon his lips or anger at his heart. 

He travels on, a solitary Man ; 

His age has no companion. On the ground 45 

His eyes are turned, and, as he moves along, 
They move along the gound ; and, evermore, 
Instead of common and habitual sight 
Of fields with rural works, of hill and dale, 
And the blue sky, one little span of earth 50 

Is all his prospect. Thus, from day to day. 
Bow-bent, his eyes for ever on the gound, 
He plies his weary journey ; seeing still, 
And seldom knowing that he sees, some straw, 
Some scattered leaf, or marks which, in one track, 55 

The nails of cart or chariot-wheel have left 

26-7 so 1837: The sauntering horseman-traveller does not throw With 
MS., 1800-32 28-9 safely . . . Within] lodge the copper coin Safe in 

MS. 31 80 1827: Towards the aged Beggar turns a look, MS., 1800- 

20 39 thus warned 1827: perchance MS., 1800-20 

48-50 Instead of Nature's fair variety 

Her ample scope of hill and dale, of clouds 
And the blue sky, the same short span of earth MS. 
51 Is all his prospect. When the little birds 
Flit over him, if their quick shadows strike 
Across his path he does not lift his head 
Like one whose thoughts have been unsettled. So MS. 
54 seldom 1827: never MS., 1800-20 


Impressed on the white road, in the same line, 

At distance still the same. Poor Traveller! 

His staff trails with him ; scarcely do his feet 

Disturb the summer dust ; he is so still 60 

In look and motion, that the cottage curs, 

Ere he has passed the door, will turn away, 

Weary of barking at him. Boys and girls, 

The vacant and the busy, maids and youths, 

The urchins newly breeched all pass him by : 65 

Him even the slow-paced waggon leaves behind. 

But deem not this Man useless Statesmen ! ye 
Who are so restless in your wisdom, ye 
Who have a broom still ready in your hands 
To rid the world of nuisances ; ye proud, 7 

Heart-swoln, while in your pride ye contemplate 
Your talents, power, or wisdom, deem him not 
A burthen of the earth! J Tis Nature's law 
That none, the meanest of created things, 
Of forms created the most vile and brute, 75 

The dullest or most noxious, should exist 
Divorced from good a spirit and pulse of good, 
A life and soul, to every mode of being 
Inseparably linked. Then be assured 
That least of all can aught that ever owned 80 

The heaven-regarding eye and front sublime 
Which man is born to sink, howe'er depressed, 
So low as to be scorned without a sin ; 

59 his slow footsteps scarce MS. 
61-3 . . . that the miller's dog 

Is tired of barking at him MS. 
62 has 1837: have MS., 1800-32 
67-70 . . . useless. Not perhaps 

Less useful than the smooth (red) and portly squire 

Who with his steady coachman, steady steeds 

All slick and bright with comfortable gloss 

Doth in his broad glass'd chariot drive along 

(Who (Heaven forbid that he should want his praise) 

Lives by his [ ?] and spreads his name abroad.) Alf. MS. 
72 or 1837: and 1800-32 
7&-8S so 1837: . . . linked. While thus he creeps 

From door to door, the villagers in him MS., 1800-32 
80-9 Dismantled as he is of limbs to act 

Almost of sense to feel, by Nature's self 
Long banish'd from the cares and the concerns 


Without offence to God cast out of view ; 

Like the dry remnant of a garden-flower 85 

Whose seeds ar,e shed, or as an implement 

Worn out and worthless. While from door to door, 

This old Man creeps, the villagers in him 

Behold a record which together binds 

Past deeds and offices of charity 90 

Else unremembered, and so keeps alive 

The kindly mood in hearts which lapse of years, 

And that half- wisdom half-experience gives, 

Make slow to feel, and by sure steps resign 

To selfishness and cold oblivious cares. 95 

Among the farms and solitary huts, 

Hamlets and thinly-scattered villages, 

Where'er the aged Beggar takes his rounds, 

The mild necessity of use compels 

To acts of love ; and habit does the work 100 

Of reason ; yet prepares that after- joy 

Which reason cherishes. And thus the soul, 

By that sweet taste of pleasure unpursued, 

Doth find herself insensibly disposed 

To virtue and true goodness. Some there are, 105 

By their good works exalted, lofty minds, 

And meditative, authors of delight 

And happiness, which to the end of time 

Will live, and spread, and kindle : even such minds 

In childhood, from this solitary Being, no 

Or from like wanderer, haply have received 

(A thing more precious far than all that books 

Business and reciprocities of life 
His very name forgotten among those 
By whom he lives, while thus from house to house 
He creeps, the villagers behold in him 
A living record that together ties Alf. MS. 
104 herself 1832: itself MS., 1800-27 
107-10 And meditative, in which reason falls 

Like a strong radiance of the setting sun 
On each minutest feeling of the heart, 
Illuminates, and to their view brings forth 
In one harmonious prospect, minds like these 
In childhood Alf. MS. 

109 so 1827: ... minds like these 1800-20: Will spread and grow and 
kindle ; minds like these MS. Ill *o 1827: This helpless Wanderer, 

have perchance received 1800-20; . . . did . . . receive MS. 


Or the solicitudes of love can do!) 

That first mild touch of sympathy and thought, 

In which they found their kindred with a world 115 

Where want and sorrow were. The easy man 

Who sits at his own door, and, like the pear 

That overhangs his head from the green wall, 

Feeds in the sunshine ; the robust and young, 

The prosperous and unthinking, they who live 120 

Sheltered, and flourish in a little grove 

Of their own kindred ; all behold in him 

A silent monitor, which on their minds 

Must needs impress a transitory thought 

Of self-congratulation, to the heart 125 

Of each recalling his peculiar boons, 

His charters and exemptions ; and, perchance, 

Though he to no one give the fortitude 

And circumspection needful to preserve 

His present blessings, and to husband up 130 

The respite of the season, he, at least, 

And 'tis no vulgar service, makes them felt. 

Yet further. Many, I believe, there are 

Who live a life of virtuous decency, 

Men who can hear the Decalogue and feel 135 

No self-reproach ; who of the moral law 

Established in the land where they abide 

Are strict observers ; and not negligent 

In acts of love to those with whom they dwell, 

Their kindred, and the children of their blood. 140 

Praise be to such, and to their slumbers peace! 

But of the poor man ask, the abject poor ; 

Go, and demand of him, if there be here 

In this cold abstinence from evil deeds, 

And these inevitable charities, 145 

Wherewith to satisfy the human soul ? 

128 Although to each he may not give the strength MS. 
133-5 Not small the number, I believe, of those 

Who hear the decalogue of God, and feel MS. 
139 so 1827: Meanwhile, in any tenderness of heart 

Or act of love . . . live, [dwell 1800-20] MS., 1800-20 
14366 If such there be whose virtues have attained 
This point, demand of him if there be here 
Wherewith to satisfy the human souL 


No man is dear to man ; the poorest poor 

Long for some moments in a weary life 

When they can know and feel that they have been, 

Themselves, the fathers and the dealers-out 150 

Of some small blessings ; have been kind to such 

As needed kindness, for this single cause, 

That we have all of us one human heart. 

Such pleasure is to one kind Being known, 

My neighbour, when with punctual care, each week, 155 

Duly as Friday comes, though pressed herself 

By her own wants, she from her store of meal 

Takes one unsparing handful for the scrip 

Of this old Mendicant, and, from her door 

Returning with exhilarated heart, 160 

Sits by her fire, and builds her hope in heaven. 

Then let him pass, a blessing on his head! 
And while in that vast solitude to which 
The tide of things has borne him, he appears 
To breathe and live but for himself alone, 165 

Unblamed, uninjured, let him bear about 
The good which the benignant law of Heaven 
Has hung around him : and, while life is his, 
Still let him prompt the unlettered villagers 
To tender offices and pensive thoughts. 170 

Then let him pass, a blessing on his head ! 
And, long as he can wander, let him breathe 
The freshness of the valleys ; let his blood 
Struggle with frosty air and winter snows ; 
And let the chartered wind that sweeps the heath 175 
Beat his grey locks against his withered face. 
Reverence the hope whose vital anxiousness 
Gives the last human interest to his heart. 
May never HOUSE, misnamed of INDUSTBY, 
Make him a captive! for that pent-up din, 180 

Oh by the joy which one good human knows 
My neighbour, when MS. 
156-7 . . . albeit poor 

And scantly fed she from her chest of meal MS. 

157 store 1827: chest 1800-20. 161/2 Oh, by that widow's hope I 

answer No! MS. 164 borne 1827: led MS., 1800-20 174/5 

Waste not on him your busy tenderness Alf. MS. 


Those life-consuming sounds that clog the air, 

Be his the natural silence of old age ! 

Let him be free of mountain solitudes ; 

And have around him, whether heard or not, 

The pleasant melody of woodland birds. 185 

Few are his pleasures : if his eyes have now 

Been doomed so long to settle upon earth 

That not without some effort they behold 

The countenance of the horizontal sun, 

Rising or setting, let the light at least 190 

Find a free entrance to their languid orbs, 

And let him, where and when he will, sit down 

Beneath the trees, or on a grassy bank 

Of highway side, and with the little birds 

Share his chance-gathered meal ; and, finally, 195 

As in the eye of Nature he has lived, 

So in the eye of Nature let him die ! 


[Composed 1800. Published July 21, 1800 (Morning Post); ed. 1815.] 

'Tis not for the unfeeling, the falsely refined, 
The squeamish in taste, and the narrow of mind, 
And the small critic wielding his delicate pen, 
That I sing of old Adam, the pride of old men. 

He dwells in the centre of London's wide Town ; 5 

His staff is a sceptre his grey hairs a crown ; 

186-9 so 1837: ... if his eyes so long 

Familiar with the earth almost have looked 
Their farewell on the horizontal sun MS. 

... if his eyes, which now 
Have been so long familiar with the earth, 
No more behold etc. 1800-5 

... if his eyes have now 
Been doomed so long to settle on the earth 
That not without some effort they behold 
The countenance etc. as text 1815-32 
193 on a 1837: by the 1800-32 
II. 112 There's an old man in London, the prime of old men, 

You may hunt for his match through ten thousand and ten; 

Of prop or of staff, does he walk, does he run, 

No more need has he than a flow'r of the sun. 1800 


And his bright eyes look brighter, set off by the streak 
Of the unfaded rose that still blooms on his cheek. 

'Mid the dews, in the sunshine of morn, 'mid the joy 
Of the fields, he collected that bloom, when a boy ; 10 

That countenance there fashioned, which, spite of a stain 
That his life hath received, to the last will remain. 

A Farmer he was ; and his house far and near 

Was the boast of the country for excellent cheer ; 

How oft have I heard in sweet Tilsbury Vale 15 

Of the silver-rimmed horn whence he dealt his mild ale ! 

Yet Adam was far as the farthest from ruin, 

His fields seemed to know what their Master was doing ; 

And turnips, and corn-land, and meadow, and lea, 

All caught the infection as generous as he. 20 

Yet Adam prized little the feast and the bowl, 
The fields better suited the ease of his soul : 
He strayed through the fields like an indolent wight, 
The quiet of nature was Adam's delight. 

For Adam was simple in thought ; and the poor, 25 

Familiar with him, made an inn of his door : 
He gave them the best that he had ; or, to say 
What less may mislead you, they took it away. 

Thus thirty smooth years did he thrive on his farm : 

The Genius of plenty preserved him from harm : 30 

At length, what to most is a season of sorrow, 

His means are run out, he must beg, or must borrow. 

7-8 so 1837 : Erect as a sunflpwer he stands, and the streak 

Of the unfaded rose is expressed on his cheek. 1815-20; 
so 1827-32, but still enlivens his cheek. 

11 so 1840: There fashion'd that countenance, which, in spite of a stain 
1816-37 13 house 1816: name 1800 14 boast 1816: Top 1800 
16-16 so 1827: so 1816-20 but good for mild 

Not less than the skill of an Exchequer Teller 
Could count the shoes worn on the steps of his cellar. 1800 
10 corn-land 1816: plough' d land 1800 21 feast and 1816: noise of 

28/9 On the works of the world, on the bustle and sound, 
Seated still in his boat, he look'd leisurely round ; 
And if now and then he his hands did employ, 
'Twas with vanity, wonder, and infantine joy. 1800 
32 are 1816: were 1800 

917.17 IV B 


To the neighbours he went, all were free with their money ; 
For his hive had so long been replenished with honey, 
That they dreamt not of dearth ; He continued his rounds, 35 
Knocked here and knocked there, pounds still adding to pounds. 

He paid what he could with his ill-gotten pelf, 

And something, it might be, reserved for himself: 

Then (what is too true) without hinting a word, 

Turned his back on the country and off like a bird. 40 

You lift up your eyes ! but I guess that you frame 
A judgment too harsh of the sin and the shame ; 
In him it was scarcely a business of art, 
For this he did all in the ease of his heart. 

To London a sad emigration I ween 45 

With his grey hairs he went from the brook and the green ; 
And there, with small wealth but his legs and his hands, 
As lonely he stood as a crow on the sands. 

All trades, as need was, did old Adam assume, 

Served as stable-boy, errand-boy, porter, and groom ; 50 

But nature is gracious, necessity kind, 

And, in spite of the shame that may lurk in his mind, 

He seems ten birthdays younger, is green and is stout ; 
Twice as fast as before does his blood run about ; 
You would say that each hair of his beard was alive, 55 

And his fingers as busy as bees in a hive. 

For he's not like an Old Man that leisurely goes 

About work that he knows, in a track that he knows ; 

But often his mind is compelled to demur, 

And you guess that the more then his body must stir. 60 

34-5 so 1815: For they all still imagined his hive full of honey; 

Like a Church- warden, Adam continued his rounds, 1800 
37 his 1837: this 1815-32 38 reserved for 1815: he kept to 1800 

41-2 so 1820: so 1815 but and (41) for but 

You lift up your eyes, "O the merciless Jew!" 

But in truth he was never more cruel than you; 1800 
43 scarcely 1815: scarce e'en 1800 44 ease 1815: ease 1800 46 
brook 1815: lawn 1800 48 so 1815: He stood all alone like 1800 

49 need 1800, 1827: needs 1815-20 50 Served as 1815: Both 1800 
51-3 so 1815: You'd think it the life of a Devil in H 1, 

But nature was kind, and with Adam 'twas well. 

He's ten birthdays younger, he's green, and he's stout, 1 800 
68 work that he knows 1815: ... does 1800 


In the throng of the town like a stranger is he, 
Like one whose own country's far over the sea ; 
And Nature, while through the great city he hies, 
Full ten times a day takes his heart by surprise. 

This gives him the fancy of one that is young, 65 

More of soul in his face than of words on his tongue ; 
Like a maiden of twenty he trembles and sighs, 
And tears of fifteen will come into his eyes. 

What's a tempest to him, or the dry parching heats ? 

Yet he watches the clouds that pass over the streets ; 70 

With a look of such earnestness often will stand, 

You might think he'd twelve reapers at work in the Strand. 

Where proud Co vent-garden, in desolate hours 
Of snow and hoar-frost, spreads her fruits and her flowers, 
Old Adam will smile at the pains that have made 75 

Poor winter look fine in such strange masquerade. 

'Mid coaches and chariots, a waggon of straw, 

Like a magnet, the heart of old Adam can draw ; 

With a thousand soft pictures his memory will teem, 

And his hearing is touched with the sounds of a dream. 80 

Up the Haymarket hill he oft whistles his way, 
Thrusts his hands in a waggon, and smells at the hay ; 
He thinks of the fields he so often hath mown, 
And is happy as if the rich freight were his own. 

68 will 1800, 1820: have 1815 71 will 1815: he'll 1800 

73-6 so 1837: so 1815-32, but fruit for fruits 

Where proud Covent Garden, in frost and in snow, 
Spreads her fruit and her flow'rs, built up row after row ; 
Old Adam will point with his finger and say, 
To them that stand by, "I've seen better than they." 1800 
76/7 Where the apples are heap'd on the barrows in piles, 
You see him stop short, he looks long, and he smiles ; 
He looks, and he smiles, and a Poet might spy 
The image of fifty green fields in his eye. 1800 

82 so 1837 : in the waggons, and smells to 1800 ; in the Waggon, and smells 
at 1815-32 83 hath 1815: has 1800 84 so 1815: And 

sometimes he dreams that the hay is 1800 


But chiefly to Smithfield he loves to repair, 85 

If you pass by at morning, you'll meet with him there. 
The breath of the cows you may see him inhale, 
And his heart all the while is in Tilsbury Vale. 

Now farewell, old Adam ! when low thou art laid, 
May one blade of grass spring up over thy head ; 90 

And I hope that thy grave, wheresoever it be, 
Will hear the wind sigh through the leaves of a tree. 


[Composed 1804. Published 1807.] 

THERE is a Flower, the lesser Celandine, 
That shrinks, like many more, from cold and rain ; 
And, the first moment that the sun may shine, 
Bright as the sun himself, 'tis out, again! 

When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm, 5 
Or blasts the green field and the trees distrest, 
Oft have I seen it muffled up from harm, 
In close self-shelter, like a Thing at rest. 

But lately, one rough day, this Flower I passed 

And recognised it, though an altered form, 10 

Now standing forth an offering to the blast, 

And buffeted at will by rain and storm. 

I stopped, a|id said with inly-muttered voice, 

"It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold : 

This neither is its courage nor its choice, 15 

But its necessity in being old. 

4 'The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew ; 

It cannot help itself in its decay ; 

Stiff in its members, withered, changed of hue." 

And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was grey. 20 

III. 2-4 wet and cold . . . sun it doth itself unfold MS. 4 himself 

1837: itself 1807-32 5-7 coming down in swarms . . . harms. MS. 

17 cheer] bless MS. 


To be a Prodigal's Favourite then, worse truth, 
A miser's Pensioner behold our lot ! 
O Man, that from thy fair and shining youth 
Age might but take the things Youth needed not ! 



[Composed 1800. Published 1800.] 

O NOW that the genius of Bewick were mine, 
And the skill which he learned on the banks of the Tyne, 
Then the Muses might deal with me just as they chose, 
For I'd take my last leave both of verse and of prose. 

What feats would I work with my magical hand ! 5 

Book-learning and books should be banished the land: 
And, for hunger and thirst and such troublesome calls, 
Every ale-house should then have a feast on its walls. 

The traveller would hang his wet clothes on a chair ; 
Let them smoke, let them burn, not a straw would he care! 10 
For the Prodigal Son, Joseph's Dream and his sheaves, 
Oh, what would they be to my tale of two Thieves ? 

The One, yet unbreeched, is not three birthdays old, 

His Grandsire that age more than thirty times told ; 

There are ninety good seasons of fair and foul weather 15 

Between them, and both go a-pilfering together. 

With chips is the carpenter strewing his floor ? 

Is a cart-load of turf at an old woman's door ? 

Old Daniel his hand to the treasure will slide ! 

And his Grandson's as busy at work by his side, 20 

IV. 1-6 Oh ! now that the boxwood and graver were mine, 
Of the Poet who lives on the banks of the Tyne ! 
Who has plied his rude tools with more fortunate toil 
Than Reynolds e'er brought to his canvas and oil. 

Then Books, and Book-learning, I'd ring out your knell, 
The Vicar should scarce know an A from an L, MS. 

13 so 1820: Little Dan is unbreech'd he is 1800-15 15 There are 

1802: There's MS., 1800 16 a-pilfering 1837: a-stealing MS., 1800-32 
18 turf 1827: peats MS., 1800-20 


Old Daniel begins ; he stops short and his eye, 
Through the lost look of dotage, is cunning and sly: 
'Tis a look which at this time is hardly his own, 
But tells a plain tale of the days that are flown. 

He once had a heart which was moved by the wires 25 

Of manifold pleasures and many desires : 

And what if he cherished his purse ? 'Twas no more 

Than treading a path trod by thousands before. 

'Twas a path trod by thousands ; but Daniel is one 

Who went something farther than others have gone, 30 

And now with old Daniel you see how it fares ; 

You see to what end he has brought his grey hairs. 

The pair sally forth hand in hand: ere the sun 

Has peered o'er the beeches, their work is begun : 

And yet, into whatever sin they may fall, 35 

This child but half knows it, and that not at all. 

They hunt through the streets with deliberate tread, 

And each, in his turn, becomes leader or led ; 

And, wherever they carry their plots and their wiles, 

Every face in the village is dimpled with smiles. 40 

Neither checked by the rich nor the needy they roam ; 
For the grey-headed Sire has a daughter at home, 
Who will gladly repair all the damage that's done ; 
And three, were it asked, would be rendered for one. 

Old Man ! whom so oft I with pity have eyed, 45 

I love thee, and love the sweet Boy at thy side : 
Long yet may'st thou live ! for a teacher we see 
That lifts up the veil of our nature in thee. 

22 lost] last 1805 only 25 He 1820: Dan MS., 1800-15 

29-30 'Twas a smooth pleasant pathway, a gentle descent, 

And leisurely down it, and down it, he went. MS. 

30 farther 1800, 1802, 1827-50: further 1805-20 38 becomes leader 
or 1837: is both leader and MS., 1800-32 42 so 1837: For gray- 

headed Dan MS., 1800-15: The gray-headed Sire 1820-32 



[Composed 1797. Published 1798.] 

THE little hedgerow birds, 
That peck along the road, regard him not. 
He travels on, and in his face, his step, 
His gait, is one expression: every limb, 
His look and bending figure, all bespeak 5 

A man who does not move with pain, but moves 
With thought. He is insensibly subdued 
To settled quiet : he is one by whom 
All effort seems forgotten ; one to whom 
Long patience hath such mild composure given, 10 

That patience now doth seem a thing of which 
He hath no need. He is by nature led 
To peace so perfect that the young behold 
With envy, what the Old Man hardly feels. 

V. "Old Man Travelling ; Animal Tranquillity and Decay, A Sketch" 1 798 ; 
1800-43 omit first three words, 1845 omits also last two. 
3-5 . . . his face and every limb 

Hi look and bending figure all alike 
Have one expression, all the same it is. MS. 

7-8 resigned to quietness MS., margin 10 hath 1805: has 1798- 

After 14 I asked him whither he was bound, and what 

The object of his journey ; he replied 

"Sir! I am going many miles to take 

A last leave of my son, a mariner, 

Who from a sea-fight has been brought to Falmouth, 

And there is dying in an hospital. " 1798: That he was going 

. . . his son . . . had . . . was dying . . . MS. 
1800-5, but lying for dying in 1800. Not in 1815 etc. 




[Composed ? Published 1837.] 

WEEP not, beloved Friends ! nor let the air 

For me with sighs be troubled. Not from life 

Have I been taken ; this is genuine life 

And this alone the life which now I live 

In peace eternal ; where desire and joy 5 

Together move in fellowship without end. 

Francesco Ceni willed that, after death, 

His tombstone thus should speak for him. And surely 

Small cause there is for that fond wish of ours 

Long to continue in this world ; a world 10 

That keeps not faith, nor yet can point a hope 

To good, whereof itself is destitute. 


[Composed 1809 or 1810. Published February 22, 1810 (The Friend); 

ed. 1815.] 

PERHAPS some needful service of the State 

Drew TITUS from the depth of studious bowers, 

And doomed him to contend in faithless courts, 

Where gold determines between right and wrong. 

Yet did at length his loyalty of heart 5 

And his pure native genius, lead him back 

To wait upon the bright and gracious Muses, 

Whom he had early loved. And not in vain 

Such course he held ! Bologna's learned schools 

Were gladdened by the Sage's voice, and hung 10 

With fondness on those sweet Nestorian strains. 

There pleasure crowned his days ; and all his thoughts 


I. 7-8 so 1850: . . . after death enjoined That thus his tomb 1837-45 

II. 11 Nestrian 1810 12-13 so 1815 There did he live content . . . 
Were blithe as vernal flowers 1810 


A roseate fragrance breathed. 1 human life, 

That never art secure from dolorous change! 

Behold a high injunction suddenly 15 

To Arno's side hath brought him, and he charmed 

A Tuscan audience : but full soon was called 

To the perpetual silence of the grave. 

Mourn, Italy, the loss of him who stood 

A Champion stedfast and invincible, 20 

To quell the rage of literary War! 


[Composed 1809 or 1810. Published February 22, 1810 (The Friend); 

ed. 1815.] 

O THOU who movest onward with a mind 

Intent upon thy way, pause, though in haste ! 

'Twill be no fruitless moment. I was born 

Within Savona's walls, of gentle blood. 

On Tiber's banks my youth was dedicate 5 

To sacred studies ; and the Roman Shepherd 

Gave to my charge Urbino's numerous flock. 

Well did I watch, much laboured, nor had power 

To escape from many and strange indignities ; 

Was smitten by the great ones of the world, 10 

But did not fall ; for Virtue braves all shocks, 

Upon herself resting immoveably. 

Me did a kindlier fortune then invite 

To serve the glorious Henry, King of France, 

And in his hands I saw a high reward 15 

Stretched out for my acceptance, but Death came. 

Now, Reader, learn from this my fate, how false, 

How treacherous to her promise, is the world ; 

And trust in God to whose eternal doom 

Must bend the sceptred Potentates of earth. 20 

1 Ivi vivea giocondo e i suoi pensieri 

Erano tutti rose. 
The Translator had not skill to come nearer to his original. 

16 hath brought 1837: conducts 1810-32 
III. 8 Well 1837: Much 1810-32 



[Composed 1809. Published December 28, 1809 (The Friend); ed. 1815.] 

THERE never breathed a man who, when his life 

Was closing, might not of that life relate 

Toils long and hard. The warrior will report 

Of wounds, and bright swords flashing in the field, 

And blast of trumpets. He who hath been doomed 5 

To bow his forehead in the courts of kings, 

Will tell of fraud and never-ceasing hate, 

Envy and heart-inquietude, derived 

From intricate cabals of treacherous friends. 

I, who on shipboard lived from earliest youth, 10 

Could represent the countenance horrible 

Of the vexed waters, and the indignant rage 

Of Auster and Bootes. Fifty years 

Over the well-steered galleys did I rule : 

From huge Pelorus to the Atlantic pillars, 15 

Rises no mountain to mine eyes unknown ; 

And the broad gulfs I traversed oft and oft. 

Of every cloud which in the heavens might stir 

I knew the force ; and hence the rough sea's pride 

Availed not to my Vessel's overthrow. 20 

What noble pomp and frequent have not I 

On regal decks beheld ! yet in the end 

I learned that one poor moment can suffice 

To equalise the lofty and the low. 

We sail the sea of life a Calm One finds, 25 

And One a Tempest and, the voyage o'er, 

Death is the quiet haven of us all. 

If more of my condition ye would know, 

Savona war my birthplace, and I sprang 

Of noble parents : seventy years and three 30 

Lived I then yielded to a slow disease. 


[Composed ? Published 1837.] 

TRUE is it that Ambrosio Salinero 

With an untoward fate was long involved 

In odious litigation ; and full long, 

Fate harder still ! had he to endure assaults 

IV. 13 Fifty 1837: Forty 1809-32 23 learned 1837: learnt 1832: 

learn 1809-27 30 seventy 1837: sixty 180&-32 


Of racking malady. And true it is 5 

That not the less a frank courageous heart 

And buoyant spirit triumphed over pain ; 

And he was strong to follow in the steps 

Of the fair Muses. Not a covert path 

Leads to the dear Parnassian forest's shade, 10 

That might from him be hidden ; not a track 

Mounts to pellucid Hippocrene, but he 

Had traced its windings. This Savona knows, 

Yet no sepulchral honors to her Son 

She paid, for in our age the heart is ruled 15 

Only by gold. And now a simple stone 

Inscribed with this memorial here is raised 

By his bereft, his lonely, Chiabrera. 

Think not, O Passenger ! who read'st the lines 

That an exceeding love hath dazzled me ; 20 

No he was One whose memory ought to spread 

Where'er Permessus bears an honoured name, 

And live as long as its pure stream shall flow. 


[Composed 1809. Published December 28, 1809 (The Friend); ed. 1815.] 

DESTINED to war from very infancy 

Was I, Roberto Dati, and I took 

In Malta the white symbol of the Cross : 

Nor in life's vigorous season did I shun 

Hazard or toil ; among the sands was seen 5 

Of Lybia ; and not seldom, on the banks 

Of wide Hungarian Danube, 'twas my lot 

To hear the sanguinary trumpet sounded. 

So lived I, and repined not at such fate : 

This only grieves me, for it seems a wrong 10 

That stripped of arms I to my end am brought 

On the soft down of my paternal home. 

Yet haply Arno shall be spared all cause 

To blush for me. Thou, loiter not nor halt 

In thy appointed way, and bear in mind 15 

How fleeting and how frail is human life ! 



[Composed ? Published 1837.] 

FLOWER of all that springs from gentle blood, 

And all that generous nurture breeds to make 

Youth amiable ; friend so true of soul 

To fair Aglaia ; by what envy moved, 

Lelius ! has death cut short thy brilliant day 5 

In its sweet opening ? and what dire mishap 

Has from Savona torn her best delight ? 

For thee she mourns, nor e'er will cease to mourn ; 

And, should the out-pourings of her eyes suffice not 

For her heart's grief, she will entreat Sebeto 10 

Not to withhold his bounteous aid, Sebeto 

Who saw thee, on his margin, yield to death, 

In the chaste arms of thy beloved Love ! 

What profit riches ? what does youth avail ? 

Dust are our hopes ; I, weeping bitterly, 15 

Penned these sad lines, nor can forbear to pray 

That every gentle Spirit hither led 

May read them not without some bitter tears. 


[Composed 1809. Published January 4, 1810 (The Friend); ed. 1815.] 

NOT without heavy grief of heart did He 

On whom the duty fell (for at that time 

The father sojourned in a distant land) 

Deposit in the hollow of this tomb 

A brother's. Child, most tenderly beloved! 5 

FRANCESCO was the name the Youth had borne, 

POZZOBONNELLI his illustrious house ; 

And, when beneath this stone the Corse was laid, 

The eyes of all Savona streamed with tears. 

Alas ! the twentieth April of his life 10 

Had scarcely flowered : and at this early time, 

By genuine virtue he inspired a hope 

That greatly cheered his country: to his kin 

He promised comfort ; and the flattering thoughts 

VII. For earlier version v. notes p. 449 


His friends had in their fondness entertained, 1 15 

He suffered not to languish or decay. 

Now is there not good reason to break forth 

Into a passionate lament ? O Soul! 

Short while a Pilgrim in our nether world, 

Do thou enjoy the calm empyreal air ; 20 

And round this earthly tomb let roses rise, 

An everlasting spring ! in memory 

Of that delightful fragrance which was once 

From thy mild manners quietly exhaled. 


[Composed 1809. Published January 4, 1810 (The Friend); ed. 1815.] 

PAUSE, courteous Spirit! Baldi supplicates 

That Thou, with no reluctant voice, for him 

Here laid in mortal darkness, wouldst prefer 

A prayer to the Redeemer of the world. 

This to the dead by sacred right belongs ; 5 

All else is nothing. Did occasion suit 

To tell his worth, the marble of this tomb 

Would ill suffice : for Plato's lore sublime, 

And all the wisdom of the Stagyrite, 

Enriched and beautified his studious mind : 10 

With Archimedes also he conversed 

As with a chosen friend ; nor did he leave 

Those laureat wreaths ungathered which the Nymphs 

Twine near their loved Permessus. Finally, 

Himself above each lower thought uplifting, 15 

His ears he closed to listen to the songs 

Which Sion's Bongs did consecrate of old ; 

And his Permessus found on Lebanon. 

A blessed Man ! who of protracted days 

Made not, as thousands do, a vulgar sleep ; 20 

But truly did He live his life. Urbino, 

Take pride in him! Passenger, farewell! 

1 In justice to the Author, I subjoin the original: 

e degli amici 

Non lasciava languire i bei pensieri. 

IX. 1 Balbi 1815-50 8 lore 1815: love 1810 14 so 1837: Twine 
on the top of Pindus 1810-32 16 songs 1837: Song 1810-32 

18 so 1837: And fixed his Pindus upon 1810-32 21 He] he 1810 



[Composed ? Published 1835.] 

BY a blest Husband guided, Mary came 

From nearest kindred, Vernon her new name ; 

She came, though meek of soul, in seemly pride 

Of happiness and hope, a youthful Bride. 

dread reverse ! if aught be so, which proves 5 

That God will chasten whom he dearly loves. 

Faith bore her up through pains in mercy given, 

And troubles that were each a step to Heaven : 

Two Babes were laid in earth before she died ; 

A third now slumbers at the Mother's side ; 10 

Its Sister-twin survives, whose smiles afford 

A' trembling solace to her widowed Lord. 

Reader ! if to thy bosom cling the pain 
Of recent sorrow combated in vain ; 
Or if thy cherished grief have failed to thwart 15 

Time still intent on his insidious part, 
Lulling the mourner's best good thoughts asleep, 
Pilfering regrets we would, but cannot, keep ; 
Bear with Him judge Him gently who makes known 
His bitter loss by this memorial Stone ; 20 

And pray that in his faithful breast the grace 
Of resignation find a hallowed place. 


[Composed 1812 (?). Published 1837.] 

Six months to six years added he remained 
Upon this sinful earth, by sin unstained: 
O blessed Lord ! whose mercy then removed 
A Child whom every eye that looked on loved ; 
Support us, teach us calmly to resign 
What we possessed, and now is wholly thine ! 

I. 2 Vernon 1837: ****** 1835 




In affectionate remembrance of Frances Fermor, whose remains are de- 
posited in the church of Claines, near Worcester, this stone is erected by 
her sister, Dame Margaret, wife of Sir George Beaumont, Bart., who, 
feeling not less than the love of a brother for the deceased, commends 
this memorial to the care of his heirs and successors in the possession of 
this place. 

[Composed 1824. Published 1842.] 

BY vain affections unenthralled, 

Though resolute when duty called 

To meet the world's broad eye, 

Pure as the holiest cloistered nun 

That ever feared the tempting sun, 5 

Did Fermor live and die. 

This Tablet, hallowed by her name, 

One heart-relieving tear may claim ; 

But if the pensive gloom 

Of fond regret be still thy choice, 10 

Exalt thy spirit, hear the voice 

Of Jesus from her tomb ! 



[Composed 1841. Published: vol. of 1842.] 

BY playful smiles, (alas ! too oft 

A sad heart's sunshine) by a, soft 

And gentle nature, and a free 

Yet modest hand of charity, 

Through life was OWEN LLOYD endeared 5 

To young and old ; and how revered 

Had been that pious spirit, a tide 

Of humble mourners testified, 

When, after pains dispensed to prove 

The measure of God's chastening love, 10 

Here, brought from far, his corse found rest, 

Fulfilment of his own request ; 

III. 7 This cenotaph (This sacred stone) that bears her name MS. 


Urged less for this Yew's shade, though he 

Planted with such fond hope the tree ; 

Less for the love of stream and rock, 15 

Dear as they were, than that his Flock, 

When they no more their Pastor's voice 

Could hear to guide them in their choice 

Through good and evil, help might have, 

Admonished, from his silent grave, 20 

Of righteousness, of sins forgiven, 

For peace on earth and bliss in heaven. 




[Composed 1798. Published: vol. of 1842.] 

I COME, ye little noisy Crew, 

Not long your pastime to prevent ; 

I heard the blessing which to you 

Our common Friend and Father sent. 

I kissed his cheek before he died ; 5 

And when his breath was fled, 

I raised, while kneeling by his side, 

His hand : it dropped like lead. 

Your hands, dear Little-ones, do all 

That can be done, will never fall 10 

Like his till they are dead. 

By night or day, blow foul or fair, 

Ne'er will the best of all your train 

Play with the locks of his white hair, 

Or stand between his knees again. 15 

Here did he sit confined for hours ; 
But he could see the woods and plains, 
Could hear the wind and mark the showers 
Come streaming down the streaming panes. 
Now stretched beneath his grass-green mound 20 

He rests a prisoner of the ground. 

V. 1 I bring MS. 2-3 Fulfilling a most kind intent The pious MS. 

12 Oh never more ... 14 Have Matthew's hand upon his hair MS. 

16 v. note to 48/9 app. crti. 


He loved the breathing air, 

He loved the sun, but if it rise 

Or set, to him where now he lies, 

Brings not a moment's care. 25 

Alas ! what idle words ; but take 

The Dirge which for our Master's sake 

And yours, love prompted me to make. 

The rhymes so homely in attire 

With learned ears may ill agree, 30 

But chanted by your Orphan Quire 

Will make a touching melody. 


Mourn, Shepherd, near thy old grey stone ; 
Thou Angler, by the silent flood ; 

And mourn when thou art all alone, 35 

Thou Woodman, in the distant wood ! 

Thou one blind Sailor, rich in joy 

Though blind, thy tunes in sadness hum ; 

And mourn, thou poor half-witted Boy! 

Born deaf, and living deaf and dumb. 40 

Thou drooping sick Man, bless the Guide 
Who checked or turned thy headstrong youth, 
As he before had sanctified 
Thy infancy with heavenly truth. 

Ye Striplings, light of heart and gay, 45 

Bold settlers on some foreign shore, 

Give, when your thoughts are turned this way, 

A sigh to him whom we deplore. 

For us who here in funeral strain 

With one accord our voices raise, 50 

Let sorrow overcharged with pain 

Be lost in thankfulness and praise. 

48/9 Yet why lament ? in humble state 

He shewed the good a Man of worth, 

A single Mortal, can create 

Upon a single spot of earth. MSS., followed in one MS. by 

May Heaven forgive if aught amiss 

With wilful mind he did or said, 

And both in sorrow and in bliss 

Let us remember his grey head. v. note, p. 451. 

4952 Weep, weep no more . . . But while wo here . . . May Sorrow . . 
Give place to MS. 

917.17 IV S 


And when our hearts shall feel a sting 

From ill we meet or good we miss, 

May touches of his memory bring 55 

Fond healing, like a mother's kiss. 


LONG time his pulse hath ceased to beat ; 

But benefits, his gift, we trace 

Expressed in every eye we meet 

Round this dear Vale, his native place. 60 

To stately Hall and Cottage rude 
Flowed from his life what still they hold, 
Light pleasures, every day renewed ; 
And blessings half a century old. 

Oh true of heart, of spirit gay, 65 

Thy faults, where not already gone 
From memory, prolong their stay 
For charity's sweet sake alone. 

Such solace find we for our loss ; 

And what beyond this thought we crave 7 

Conies in the promise from the Cross, 

Shining upon thy happy grave. 1 



[Composed 1805. Published 1807.] 
I WAS thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile ! 
Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee : 
I saw thee every day ; and all the while 
Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea. 

1 See upon the subject of the three foregoing pieces The Fountain, &c., 
[pp. 68-73]. 

56/7 Prompted by the sight of his Grave a few years afterwards MS. 
57 Long, long thy pulse . . . MS. 58 But benefits of thine MS. 

62 From thee did flow MS. 
65-8 Oh good of heart, and gay in mind, 

If ought of ill by thee were done 

May human frailty pardon find 

At Mercy's everlasting Throne. MS. 


So pure the sky, so quiet was the air ! 5 

So like, so very like, was day to day! 
Whene'er I looked, thy Image still was there ; 
It trembled, but it never passed away. 

How perfect was the calm ! it seemed no sleep ; 

No mood, which season takes away, or brings: 10 

I could have fancied that the mighty Deep 

Was even the gentlest of all gentle Things. 

Ah! THEN, if mine had been the Painter's hand, 

To express what then I saw ; and add the gleam, 

The light that never was, on sea or land, 15 

The consecration, and the Poet's dream ; 

I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile 

Amid a world how different from this ! 

Beside a sea that could not cease to smile ; 

On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. 20 

Thou shouldst have seemed a treasure-house divine 
Of peaceful years ; a chronicle of heaven ; 
Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine 
The very sweetest had to thee been given. 

A Picture had it been of lasting ease, 25 

Elysian quiet, without toil or strife ; 

No motion but the moving tide, a breeze, 

Or merely silent Nature's breathing life. 

Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, 

Such Picture would I at that time have made : 30 

And seen the soul of truth in every part, 

A stedfast peace that might not be betrayed. 

So once it would have been, 'tis so no more ; 

I have submitted to a new control : 

A power is gone, which nothing can restore ; 35 

A deep distress hath humanised my Soul. 

VI. 14-16 so 1807-15, 1832-50: . . . and add a gleam, 

Of lustre, known to neither sea nor land 

But borrowed from the youthful Poet's dream; 1820; so 1827, but 
the gleam, The lustre as in Errata 1820 

21 so 1845: a treasure house, a mine 1807-15 21-4 not in 1820^43 

27 morning tide L 29 illusion 1815: delusion 1807 32 so 

1837: A faith, a trust, that could not 1807-32 


Not for a moment could I now behold 

A smiling sea, and be what I have been : 

The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old ; 

This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. 4 

Then, Beaumont, Friend ! who would have been the Friend, 

If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore, 

This work of thine I blame not, but commend ; 

This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. 

'tis a passionate Work ! yet wise and well, 45 
Well chosen is the spirit that is here ; 

That Hulk which labours in the deadly swell, 
This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear ! 

And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, 

1 love to see the look with which it braves, 50 
Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time, 

The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. 

Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone, 

Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind ! 

Such happiness, wherever it be known, 55 

Is to be pitied ; for 'tis surely blind, 

But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, 

And frequent sights of what is to be borne ! 

Such sights, or worse, as are before me here. 

Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. 60 


[Composed 1805. Published 1815.] 

SWEET Flower! belike one day to have 

A place upon thy Poet's grave, 

I welcome thee once more : 

But He, who was on land, at sea, 

My Brother, too, in loving thee, 

Although he loved more silently, 

Sleeps by his native shore. 


All ! hopeful, hopeful was the day 

When to that Ship he bent his way, 

To govern and to guide: 10 

His wish was gained : a little time 

Would bring him back in manhood's prime 

And free for life, these hills to climb, 

With all his wants supplied. 

And full of hope day followed day 15 

While that stout Ship at anchor lay 

Beside the shores of Wight ; 

The May had then made all things green ; 

And, floating there, in pomp serene, 

That Ship was goodly to be seen, 20 

His pride and his delight ! 

Yet then, when called ashore, he sought 

The tender peace of rural thought : 

In more than happy mood 

To your abodes, bright daisy Flowers! 25 

He then would steal at leisure hours, 

And loved you glittering in your bowers, 

A starry multitude. 

But hark the word ! the ship is gone ; 

Returns from her long course : anon 30 

Sets sail: in season due, 

Once more on English earth they stand : 

But, when a third time from the land 

They parted, sorrow was at hand 

For Him and for his crew. 35 

Ill-fated Vessel ! ghastly shock ! 

At length delivered from the rock, 

The deep she hath regained ; 

And through the stormy night they steer ; 

VII. 9 bent] went MS. 15 And hopeful, hopeful was the day MS. 

18-20 And goodly, also, to be seen 

Was that proud Ship, of Ships the Queen, 
His hope etc. MS. 
22-3 he sought . . . thought] I know 

The truth of this (From his own pen) he told me so MS. corr. to text 
26 He then would steal] He sometimes stole corr. to He oft would steal MS. 
30 so MS., 1837: From her long course returns 1815-32 36-49 not 

in MS. 


Labouring for life, in hope and fear, 40 

To reach a safer shore how near, 
Yet not to be attained! 

"Silence!" the brave Commander cried; 

To that calm word a shriek replied, 

It was the last death-shriek. 45 

A few (my soul oft sees that sight) 

Survive upon the tall mast's height ; 

But one dear remnant of the night 

For Him in vain I seek. 

Six weeks beneath the moving sea 5 

He lay in slumber quietly ; 

Unforced by wind or wave 

To quit the Ship for which he died, 

(All claims of duty satisfied) ; 

And there they found him at her side ; 55 

And bore him to the grave. 

Vain service ! yet not vainly done 

For this, if other end were none, 

That He, who had been cast 

Upon a way of life unmeet 60 

For such a gentle Soul and sweet, 

Should find an undisturbed retreat 

Near what he loved, at last 

That neighbourhood of grove and field 

To Him a resting-place should yield, 65 

A meek man and a brave ! 

The birds shall sing and ocean make 

A mournful murmur for his sake ; 

And Thou, sweet Flower, shalt sleep and wake 

Upon his senseless grave. 70 

41 To reach 1837: Towards 1816-32 

46-8 so 1837: A few appear by morning light 

Preserved upon the tall mast's height 
Oft in my Soul I see that sight ; 1815-32 

64 grove] wood MS. 





Commander of the E. I. Company's ship, the Earl of Abergavenny, in which 
he perished by calamitous shipwreck, Feb. 6th, 1805. Composed near 
the Mountain track, that leads from Grasmere through Grisdale Hawes, 
where it descends towards Patterdale. 

[Composed 1805. Published: vol. of 1842.] 


THE Sheep-boy whistled loud, and lo ! 

That instant, startled by the shock, 

The Buzzard mounted from the rock 

Deliberate and slow : 

Lord of the air, he took his flight ; 5 

Oh ! could he on that woeful night 

Have lent his wing, my Brother dear, 

For one poor moment's space to Thee, 

And all who struggled with the Sea, 

When safety was so near. 10 


Thus in the weakness of my heart 
I spoke (but let that pang be still) 
When rising from the rock at will, 
I saw the Bird depart. 

VIII. Before L I I only look'd for pain and grief 

And trembled as I drew more near, 

Bat God's unbounded love is here 

And I have found relief. 

The precious Spot is all my own 

Save only that this Plant unknown, 

A little one and lowly sweet, 

Not surely now without Heav'n's grace 

First seen, and seen too in this place, 

Is flowering at my feet. 

The Shepherd Boy hath disappear'd, 
The Buzzard too, hath soar'd away, 
And undisturb'd I now may pay 
My debt to what I fear'd, 
Sad register ! but this is sure, 
Peace built on suffering will endure ; 
But such the peace that will be ours 
Though many suns alas ! must shine 
Ere tears shall cease from me and mine 
To fall in bitter show'rs. MS. 


And let me calmly bless the Power 15 

That meets me in this unknown Flower, 

Affecting type of him I mourn ! 

With calmness suffer and believe, 

And grieve, and know that I must grieve, 

Not cheerless, though forlorn. 20 


Here did we stop ; and here looked round 
While each into himself descends, 
For that last thought of parting Friends 
That is not to be found. 

Hidden was Grasmere Vale from sight, 25 

Our home and his, his heart's delight, 
.His quiet heart's selected home. 
But time before him melts away, 
And he hath feeling of a day 
Of blessedness to come. 30 


Full soon in sorrow did I weep, 

Taught that the mutual hope was dust, 

In sorrow, but for higher trust, 

How miserably deep ! 

All vanished in a single word, 35 

A breath, a sound, and scarcely heard. 

Sea Ship drowned Shipwreck so it came, 

The meek, the brave, the good, was gone ; 

He who had been our living John 

Was nothing but a name. 40 

25 Our Grasmere vale was out of sight MS. 27 His gentle heart's 

delicious home. MS. 

30/1 Here did we part, and seated here 

With One he lov'd, I saw him bound 

Downwards along the rocky ground 

As if with eager chear. 

A lovely sight as on he went, 

For he was bold and innocent, 

Had liv'd a life of self-command, 

Heaven, did it seem to me and her 

Had laid on such a Mariner 

A consecrating hand. MS. 
31-2 Then let not those be blamed who weep 

Now taught that such a faith was dust MS. 



That was indeed a parting ! oh, 

Glad am I, glad that it is past ; 

For there were some on whom it cast 

Unutterable woe. 

But they as well as I have gains ; 45 

From many a humble source, to pains 

Like these, there comes a mild release ; 

Even here I feel it, even this Plant 

Is in its beauty ministrant 

To comfort and to peace. 5 


He would have loved thy modest grace, 

Meek Flower ! To Him I would have said, 

"It grows upon its native bed 

Beside our Parting-place ; 

There, cleaving to the ground, it lies 55 

With multitude of purple eyes, 

Spangling a cushion green like moss ; 

But we will see it, joyful tide! 

Some day, to see it in its pride, 

The mountain will we cross." 60 


Brother and friend, if verse of mine 

Have power to make thy virtues known, 

Here let a monumental Stone 

Stand sacred as a Shrine ; 

And to the few who pass this way, 65 

Traveller or Shepherd, let it say, 

Long as these mighty rocks endure, 

Oh do not Thou too fondly brood, 

Although deserving of all good, 

On any earthly hope, however pure I 1 70 

1 The plant alluded to is the Moss Campion (Silene acaulis, of LinnsBus). 
See Note, p. 456. See among the Poems on the "Naming of Places", No. vi. 

55 / Close to the ground like dew it lies 

{ As loth to leave the ground it lies 

lit climbs not from the ground but lies MS. 

61 Well, well, if ever verse of mine MS. 62 thy virtues] his merits 





[Composed January, 1846. Published I860.] 

WHY should we weep or mourn, Angelic boy, 

For such thou wert ere from our sight removed, 

Holy, and ever dutiful beloved 

From day to day with never-ceasing joy, 

And hopes as dear as could the heart employ 5 

In aught to earth pertaining ? Death has proved 

His might, nor less his mercy, as behoved 

Death conscious that he only could destroy 

The bodily frame. That beauty is laid low 

To moulder in a far-off field of Rome ; 10 

But Heaven is now, blest Child, thy Spirit's home : 

When such divine communion, which we know, 

Is felt, thy Roman burial-place will be 

Surely a sweet remembrancer of Thee. 



Composed at Grasmere, during a walk one Evening, after a stormy day, 
the Author having just read in a Newspaper that the dissolution of Mr. 
Fox was hourly expected. 

[Composed September, 1806. Published 1807.] 

LOUD is the Vale ! the Voice is up 

With which she speaks when storms are gone, 

A mighty unison of streams ! 

Of all her Voices, One ! 

Loud is the^ Vale ; this inland Depth 5 

In peace is roaring like the Sea ; 
Yon star upon the mountain-top 
Is listening quietly. 

Sad was I, even to pain deprest, 

Importunate and heavy load! 1 10 

The Comforter hath found me here, 

Upon this lonely road ; 

1 Importuna e grave salma. 


IX. 12 such] this MS. 


And many thousands now are sad 

Wait the fulfilment of their fear ; 

For he must die who is their stay, 15 

Their glory disappear. 

A Power is passing from the earth 

To breathless Nature's dark abyss ; 

But when the great and good depart 

What is it more than this 20 

That Man, who is from God sent forth, 
Doth yet again to God return ? 
Such ebb and flow must ever be, 
Then wherefore should we mourn ? 


[Composed February, 1816. Published 1816.] 


"REST, rest, perturbed Earth! 
O rest, thou doleful Mother of Mankind!" 
A Spirit sang in tones more plaintive than the wind : 
"From regions where no evil thing has birth 
I come thy stains to wash away, 5 

Thy cherished fetters to unbind, 
And open thy sad eyes upon a milder day. 
The Heavens are thronged with martyrs that have risen 

From out thy noisome prison ; 

The penal caverns groan 10 

With tens of thousands rent from off the tree 
Of hopeful life, by battle's whirlwind blown 
Into the deserts of Eternity. 
Unpitied havoc! Victims unlamented! 
But not on high, where madness is resented, 15 

And murder causes some sad tears to flow, 
Though, from the widely-sweeping blow, 
The choirs of Angels spread, triumphantly augmented. 

X. 19 so 1837: But when the Mighty pass away 1807-32 



"False Parent of Mankind! 

Obdurate, proud, and blind, 20 

I sprinkle thee with soft celestial dews, 
Thy lost, maternal heart to re-infuse ! 
Scattering this far-fetched moisture from my wings, 
Upon the act a blessing I implore, 

Of which the rivers in their secret springs, 25 

The rivers stained so oft with human gore, 
Are conscious ; may the like return no more ! 
May Discord for a Seraph's care 
Shall be attended with a bolder prayer 
May she, who once disturbed the seats of bliss 30 

These mortal spheres above, 
Be chained for ever to the black abyss ! 
And thou, O rescued Earth, by peace and love, 
And merciful desires, thy sanctity approve!" 

The Spirit ended his mysterious rite, 35 

And the pure vision closed in darkness infinite. 



[Composed November 13, 1814. Published 1815.] 

To public notice, with reluctance strong, 

Did I deliver this unfinished Song ; 

Yet for one happy issue ; and I look 

With self-congratulation on the Book 

Which pious, learned, MURFITT saw and read ; 5 

Upon my thoughts his saintly Spirit fed ; 

He conned the new-born Lay with grateful heart 

Foreboding not how soon he must depart ; 

Unweeting that to him the joy was given 

Which good men take with them from earth to heaven. 10 





[Composed probably December, 1824. Published 1827.] 

O FOR a dirge ! But why complain ? 

Ask rather a triumphal strain 

When FERMOR'S race is run ; 

A garland of immortal boughs 

To twine around the Christian's brows, 5 

Whose glorious work is done. 

We pay a high and holy debt ; 

No tears of passionate regret 

Shall stain this votive lay ; 

Ill-worthy, Beaumont ! were the grief 10 

That flings itself on wild relief 

When Saints have passed away. 

Sad doom, at Sorrow's shrine to kneel, 

For ever covetous to feel, 

And impotent to bear! 15 

Such once was hers to think and think 

On severed love, and only sink 

From anguish to despair ! 

But nature to its inmost part 

Faith had refined ; and to her heart 20 

A peaceful cradle given : 

Calm as the dew-drop's, free to rest 

Within a breeze-fanned rose's breast 

Till it exhales to Heaven. 

Was ever Spirit that could bend 25 

So graciously ? that could descend, 

Another's need to suit, 

So promptly from her lofty throne ? 

In works of love, in these alone, 

How restless, how minute ! 30 

XIII. Title *o 1837: ELEGIAC STANZAS 1824 1827-32. 6 twine 

1845: bind 1827-43 20 Faith had 1837; Had Faith 1827-32 26 
graciously] courteously MS. 


Pale was her hue ; yet mortal cheek 

Ne'er kindled with a livelier streak 

When aught had suffered wrong, 

When aught that breathes had felt a wound ; 

Such look the Oppressor might confound, 35 

However proud and strong. 

But hushed be every thought that springs 

From out the bitterness of things ; 

Her quiet is secure ; 

No thorns can piece her tender feet, 4 

Whose life was, like the violet, sweet, 

As climbing jasmine, pure 

As snowdrop on an infant's grave, 
. Or lily heaving with the wave 
That feeds it and defends ; 45 

As Vesper, ere the star hath kissed 
The mountain top, or breathed the mist 
That from the vale ascends. 

Thou takest not away, Death ! 

Thou strikest absence perisheth, 50 

Indifference is no more ; 

The future brightens on our sight ; 

For on the past hath fallen a light 

That tempts us to adore. 



In these grounds stands the Parish Church, wherein is a mural monument 
bearing an inscription which, in deference to the earnest request of the 
deceased, is confined to name, dates, and these words: "Enter not into 
judgment with thy servant, O Lord!" 

[Composed November, 1830. Published 1835.] 

WITH copious eulogy in prose or rhyme 
Graven on the tomb we struggle against Time, 
Alas, how feebly! but our feelings rise 
And still we struggle when a good man dies. 

50 so 1843: Thou strik'st and 1827-37 
XIV. 1 or 1837, MSS.: and 1835 


Such offering BEAUMONT dreaded and forbade, 5 

A spirit meek in self-abasement clad. 

Yet here at least, though few have numbered days 

That shunned so modestly the light of praise, 

His graceful manners, and the temperate ray 

Of that arch fancy which would round him play, 10 

Brightening a converse never known to swerve 

From courtesy and delicate reserve ; 

That sense, the bland philosophy of life, 

Which checked discussion ere it warmed to strife ; 

Those rare accomplishments, and varied powers, 15 

Might have their record among sylvan bowers. 

Oh, fled for ever ! vanished like a blast 

That shook the leaves in myriads as it passed ; 

Gone from this world of earth, air, sea, and sky, 

From all its spirit-moving imagery, 20 

Intensely studied with a painter's eye, 

A poet's heart ; and, for congenial view, 

Portrayed with happiest pencil, not untrue 

To common recognitions while the line 

Flowed in a course of sympathy divine ; 25 

Oh ! severed, too abruptly, from delights 

That all the seasons shared with equal rights ; 

Rapt in the grace of undismantled age, 

From soul-felt music, and the treasured page 

Lit by that evening lamp which loved to shed 30 

Its mellow lustre round thy honoured head ; 

While Friends beheld thee give with eye, voice, mien, 

More than theatric force to Shakspeare's scene ; 

If thou hast heard me if thy Spirit know 

Aught of these bowers and whence their pleasures flow ; 35 

If things in our remembrance held so dear, 

And thoughts and projects fondly cherished here, 

To thy exalted nature only seem 

Time's vanities, light fragments of earth's dream 

Rebuke us not ! The mandate is obeyed 40 

That said, "Let praise be mute where I am laid ;" 

The holier deprecation, given in trust 

To the cold marble, waits upon thy dust ; 

Yet have we found how slowly genuine "grief 

15 rare 1837: fine MSS., 1835 34-9 not in MSS., 1835 


From silent admiration wins relief. 45 

Too long abashed thy Name is like a rose 

That doth "within itself its sweetness close;" 

A drooping daisy changed into a cup 

In which her bright-eyed beauty is shut up. 

Within these groves, where still are flitting by 50 

Shades of the Past, oft noticed with a sigh, 

Shall stand a votive Tablet, haply free, 

When towers and temples fall, to speak of Thee ! 

If sculptured emblems of our mortal doom 

Recal not there the wisdom of the Tomb, 55 

Green ivy risen from out the cheerful earth 

Will fringe the lettered stone ; and herbs spring forth, 

Whose fragrance, by soft dews and rain unbound, 

Shall penetrate the heart without a wound ; 

While truth and love their purposes fulfil, 60 

Commemorating genius, talent, skill, 

That could not lie concealed where Thou wert known ; 

Thy virtues He must judge, and He alone, 

The God upon whose mercy they are thrown. 


[Ll. 1-38 composed November 19, 1835, and privately printed with title 
Epitaph, 1835 ; 11. 39-131 composed December, 1835, and privately printed 
1836. Published 1837.] 

To a good Man of most dear memory 

This Stone is sacred. Here he lies apart 

From the great city where he first drew breath, 

Was reared and taught ; and humbly earned his bread, 

To the strict labours of the merchant's desk 5 

By duty chained. Not seldom did those tasks 

Tease, and the thought of time so spent depress, 

His spirit, but the recompence was high ; 

Firm Independence, Bounty's rightful sire ; 

Affections, warm as sunshine, free as air ; 10 

And when the precious hours of leisure came, 

Knowledge and wisdom, gained from converse sweet 

57 Will 1837: Shall MS., 1835 

XV. Title added in 1845 1 To the dear memory of a frail good 

Man 1835-6 


With books, or while he ranged the crowded streets 

With a keen eye, and overflowing heart : 

So genius triumphed over seeming wrong, 15 

And poured out truth in works by thoughtful love 

Inspired works potent over smiles and tears. 

And as round mountain-tops the lightning plays, 

Thus innocently sported, breaking forth 

As from a cloud of some grave sympathy, 20 

Humour and wild instinctive wit, and all 

The vivid flashes of his spoken words. 

From the most gentle creature nursed in fields 

Had been derived the name he bore a name, 

Wherever Christian altars have been raised, 35 

Hallowed to meekness and to innocence; 

And if in him meekness at times gave way, 

Provoked out of herself by troubles strange, 

Many and strange, that hung about his life ; 

Still, at the centre of his being, lodged 30 

A soul by resignation sanctified: 

And if too often, self-reproached, he felt 

That innocence belongs not to our kind, 

A power that never ceased to abide in him, 

Charity, 'mid the multitude of sins 35 

That she can cover, left not his exposed 

To an unforgiving judgment from just Heaven. 

O, he was good, if e'er a good Man lived! 

From a reflecting mind and sorrowing heart 

Those simple lines flowed with an earnest wish, 40 

16-17 These lines were not in the original draft 
20/1 Or suddenly dislodged by strong rebound 

Of animal spirits that had sunk too low original draft 
345 He had a constant friend in Charity; 

Her who, among a multitude of sins 18356 ; (1835 italicizes Charity, 
his in 1. 36 and if e'er in 1. 38) 
40-9 This tribute flow'd, with hope that it might guard 

The dust of him whose virtues called it forth ; 

But 'tis a little space of earth that man, 

Stretch'd out in death, is doom'd to occupy ; 

Still smaller space doth modest custom yield 

On sculptured tomb or tablet, to the claims 

Of the deceased, or rights of the bereft. 

J Tis well ; and, tho' the record overstepped 

Those narrow bounds, yet on the printed page 
917.17 IV T 


Though but a doubting hope, that they might serve 

Fitly to guard the precious dust of him 

Whose virtues called them forth. That aim is missed ; 

For much that truth most urgently required 

Had from a faltering pen been asked in vain : 45 

Yet, haply, on the printed page received, 

The imperfect record, there, may stand unblamed 

As long as verse of mine shall breathe the air 

Of memory, or see the light of love. 

Thou wert a scorner of the fields, my Friend, 5 

But more in show than truth ; and from the fields, 
And from the mountains, to thy rural grave 
Transported, my soothed spirit hovers o'er 
Its green untrodden turf, and blowing flowers ; 
And taking up a voice shall speak (tho 5 still 55 

Awed by the theme's peculiar sanctity 
Which words less free presumed not even to touch) 
Of that fraternal love, whose heaven-lit lamp 
From infancy, through manhood, to the last 
Of threescore years, and to thy latest hour, 60 

Burnt on with ever-strengthening light, enshrined 
Within thy bosom. 

"Wonderful" hath been 
The love established between man and man, 
"Passing the love of women ;" and between 
Man and his help-mate in fast wedlock joined 65 

Through God, is raised a spirit and soul of love 
Without whose blissful influence Paradise 
Had been no Paradise ; and earth were now 

Received, there may it stand, I trust, unblamed 
(Aptly received/* there it may stand unblamed Proof copy) 
As long as verse of mine shall steal from tears 
Their bitterness, or live to shed a gleam 
Of solace over one dejected thought 1836 1 
'Tis well; and tho' the appropriate bounds have here 
Been overstepped, yet may the imprinted page 
Receive the record, there to stand, unblamed, 
As long as verse of mine etc. as text 1836 a 
'Tis well, and if the Record in the strength 
And earnestness of feeling, overpass'd 
Those narrow limits and so miss'd its aim 
Yet will I trust that on the printed page 

Received, it there may keep a place unblamed MS. quoted by Dowden 
61 Burnt on] Burned, and 1836 66 Through] By 1836 


A waste where creatures bearing human form, 

Direst of savage beasts, would roam in fear, 70 

Joyless and comfortless. Our days glide on ; 

And let him grieve who cannot choose but grieve 

That he hath been an Elm without his Vine, 

And her bright dower of clustering charities, 

That, round his trunk and branches, might have clung 75 

Enriching and adorning. Unto thee, 

Not so enriched, not so adorned, to thee 

Was given (say rather thou of later birth 

Wert given to her) a Sister 'tis a word 

Timidly uttered, for she lives, the meek, 80 

The self-restraining, and the ever-kind ; 

In whom thy reason and intelligent heart 

Found for all interests, hopes, and tender cares, 

All softening, humanising, hallowing powers, 

Whether withheld, or for her sake unsought 85 

More than sufficient recompence ! 

Her love 

(What weakness prompts the voice to tell it here ?) 
Was as the love of mothers ; and when years, 
Lifting the boy to man's estate, had called 
The long-protected to assume the part 90 

Of a protector, the first filial tie 
Was undissolved ; and, in or out of sight, 
Remained imperishably interwoven 
With life itself. Thus, 'mid a shifting world, 
Did they together testify of time 95 

And season's difference a double tree 
With two collateral stems sprung from one root ; 
Such were they such thro' life they might have been 
In union, in partition only such ; 

Otherwise wrought the will of the Most High ; 100 

Yet, thro' all visitations and all trials, 
Still they were faithful ; like two vessels launched 
From the same beach one ocean to explore 

71 glide] pass 1836 94 Thus] Yet 1836 

94-5 Together stood they (witnessing of time 

And season's difference) as a double tree 1836 1 

95 Fix'd they together testified of time 1836 2 100 added to Proof 

copy 101-2 Yet thro' . . . and . . . they were] And in ... through . . . 

were they, Proof copy 102-3 like two goodly ships Launched from 

the beach 1836 


With mutual help, and sailing to their league 

True, as inexorable winds, or bars 105 

Floating or fixed of polar ice, allow. 

But turn we rather, let my spirit turn 
With thine, O silent and invisible Friend ! 
To those dear intervals, nor rare nor brief, 
When reunited, and by choice withdrawn no 

From miscellaneous converse, ye were taught 
That the remembrance of foregone distress, 
And the worse fear of future ill (which oft 
Doth hang around it, as a sickly child 
Upon its mother) may be both alike 115 

Disarmed of power to unsettle present good 
.So prized, and things inward and outward held 
In such an even balance, that the heart 
Acknowledges God's grace, his mercy feels, 
And in its depth of gratitude is still. 120 

O gift divine of quiet sequestration ! 
The hermit, exercised in prayer and praise, 
And feeding daily on the hope of heaven, 
Is happy in his vow, and fondly cleaves 
To life-long singleness ; but happier far 125 

Was to your souls, and, to the thoughts of others, 
A thousand times more beautiful appeared, 
Your dual loneliness. The sacred tie 
Is broken ; yet why grieve ? for Time but holds 
His moiety in trust, till Joy shall lead 130 

To the blest world where parting is unknown. 



[Composed November, 1835. Published December 12, 1835 (The Athe- 

nceum) ; ed. 1837.] 

WHEN first, descending from the moorlands, 

I saw the Stream of Yarrow glide 

Along a bare and open valley, 

The Ettrick Shepherd was my guide. 

128-31 . . . The sacred tie 

Is broken, to become more sacred still. 1836 


When last along its banks I wandered, 5 

Through groves that had begun to shed 
Their golden leaves upon the pathways, 
My steps the Border-minstrel led. 

The mighty Minstrel breathes no longer, 

'Mid mouldering ruins low he lies ; 10 

And death upon the braes of Yarrow, 

Has closed the Shepherd-poet's eyes : 

Nor has the rolling year twice measured, 

From sign to sign, its stedfast course, 

Since every mortal power of Coleridge 15 

Was frozen at its marvellous source ; 

The rapt One, of the godlike forehead, 

The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth : 

And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, 

Has vanished from his lonely hearth. 20 

Like clouds that rake the mountain-summits, 
Or waves that own no curbing hand, 
How fast has brother followed brother, 
From sunshine to the sunless land! 

Yet I, whose lids from infant slumber 25 

Were earlier raised, remain to hear 
A timid voice, that asks in whispers, 
"Who next will drop and disappear?" 

Our haughty life is crowned with darkness, 

Like London with its own black wreath, 30 

On which with thee, O Crabbe ! forth-looking. 

I gazed from Hampstead's breezy heath. 

As if but yesterday departed, 

Thou too art gone before ; but why, 

O'er ripe fruit, seasonably gathered, 35 

Should frail survivors heave a sigh ? 

Mourn rather for that holy Spirit, 
Sweet as the spring, as ocean deep ; 

XVI. 25 slumber 1845: slumbers 1835-43 
37-9 She too, a Muse whose holy Spirit 

Was sweet as etc. 

She, ere her Summer yet was faded MS. 

Grieve rather for that holy Spirit 

Pure as the sky etc. C 


For Her who, ere her summer faded, 

Has sunk into a breathless sleep. 4 

No more of old romantic sorrows, 

For slaughtered Youth or love-lorn Maid ! 

With sharper grief is Yarrow smitten, 

And Ettrick mourns with her their Poet dead. 1 



[Composed December, 1843. Published 1845.] 

YE vales and hills whose beauty hither drew 
The poet's steps, and fixed him here, on you 
His eyes have closed ! And ye, lov'd books, no more 
Shall Southey feed upon your precious lore, 
To works that ne'er shall forfeit their renown, 5 

Adding immortal labours of his own 
Whether he traced historic truth, with zeal 
For the State's guidance, or the Church's weal, 
Or Fancy, disciplined by studious art, 
Inform 'd his pen, or wisdom of the heart, 10 

Or judgments sanctioned in the Patriot's mind 
By reverence for the rights of all mankind. 
Wide were his aims, yet in no human breast 
Could private feelings meet for holier rest. 
His joys, his griefs, have vanished like a cloud 15 

From Skiddaw's top ; but he to heaven was vowed 
Through his industrious life, and Christian faith 
Calmed in his soul the fear of change and death. 
1 See Note. 

44 And Ettrick mourns her Shepherd poet dead C 

XVII. Before 1. 1 Ye torrents, foaming down the rocky steeps, 

Ye lakes, -wherein the spirit of water sleeps, MS. 
7-8 not in MS. 1 9 Or] As MS. 1 11 sanctioned] rooted MS. 1 

12 Taught to revere the rights MS. 1 

13-14 Friends, Family ah wherefore touch that string. 

To them so fondly did the good man cling MS. 1 corr. to 
Friends, Family within no human breast 
Could private feelings need (find) a holier nest. 

13 Wide] Large MS. 

17-18 Through a long life; and calmed by Christian faith 
In his pure soul MS. 1 corr. to 

Through a life long and pure ; and Christian [steadfast] faith 
Calmed etc. as text, v, note p. 463. 



The Child is father of the Man ; 
And I could wish my days to be 
Bound each to each by natural piety. 

[Composed 1802-1804. Published 1807.] 


THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, 
The earth, and every common sight, 

To me did seem 
Apparelled in celestial light, 

The glory and the freshness of a dream. 5 

It is not now as it hath been of yore ; 
Turn wheresoe'er I may, 

By night or day, 
The things which I have seen I now can see no more. 


The Rainbow comes and goes, 10 

And lovely is the Rose, 
The Moon doth with delight 
Look round her when the heavens are bare ; 
Waters on a starry night 

Are beautiful and fair ; 15 

The sunshine is a glorious birth ; 
But yet I know, where'er I go, 
That there hath past away a glory from the earth. 


Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, 

And while the young lambs bound ao 

As to the tabor's sound, 
To me alone there came a thought of grief: 
A timely utterance gave that thought relief, 

And I again am strong: 

Title INTIMATIONS etc. not in 1807 Paulo majora canamus 1807 

The Child . . . piety 1815: 6 hath 1820: has MSS.-1815 9 

I now can see] I see them now MS. M 13 bare ; MSS.-1837 : bare, 

280 ODE 

The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep ; 25 

No more shall grief of mine the season wrong ; 
I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, 
The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, 
And all the earth is gay ; 

Land and sea 30 

Give themselves up to jollity, 
And with the heart of May 
Doth every Beast keep holiday ; 

Thou Child of Joy, 

Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shep- 
herd-boy ! 35 


Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call 

Ye to each other make ; I see 
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; 
My heart is at your festival, 

My head hath its coronal, 40 

The fulness of your bliss, I feel I feel it all. 

Oh evil day ! if I were sullen 

While Earth herself is adorning, 
This sweet May-morning, 

And the Children are culling 45 

On every side, 

In a thousand valleys far and wide, 

Fresh flowers ; while the sun shines warm, 
And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm: 

I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! 50 

But there's a Tree, of many, one, 
A single Field which I have looked upon, 
Both of them speak of something that is gone : 

The Pansy at my feet 

Doth the same tale repeat : 55 

Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? 
Where is it now, the glory and the dream ? 

36-57 not in MS. B 

41 Even yet more gladness I can hold it all MS. M deleted in L 43 

Earth 1837: the Earth MSB. 1832 45 culling 1837: pulling MSS. 
1832 49 on] in MS. M 67 now] gone MS. M, corr. to now 

MS. L 

ODE 281 


Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: 
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, 

Hath had elsewhere its setting, 60 

And cometh from afar : 

Not in entire forgetfulness, 

And not in utter nakedness, 
But trailing clouds of glory do we come 

From God, who is our home : 65 

Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing Boy, 

But He 
Beholds the light, and whence it flows, 70 

He sees it in his joy ; 
The Youth, who daily farther from the east 

Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, 

And by the vision splendid 

Is on his way attended ; 75 

At length the Man perceives it die away, 
And fade into the light of common day. 


Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; 

Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, 

And, even with something of a Mother's mind, 80 

And no unworthy aim, 

The homely Nurse doth all she can 
To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, 

Forget the glories he hath known, 
And that imperial palace whence he came. 85 


Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, 
A six years' Darling of a pigmy size ! 
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, 
Frettied by sallies of his mother's kisses, 

69 But He 

Beholds the light etc. MS. L corr. from text in W.WSs hand: But He 
beholds etc. as one line. MS. M, 1807-50 

76 perceives] beholds MSS. 78 pleasures] pleasure MS. M and MS. 

L corr. to text 87 six 1815: four MSS., 1807 

282 ODE 

With light upon him from his father's eyes ! 90 

See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, 
Some fragment from his dream of human life, 
Shaped by himself with newly-learned art ; 

A wedding or a festival, 

A mourning or a funeral ; 95 

And this hath now his heart, 

And unto this he frames his song : 

Then will he fit his tongue 
To dialogues of business, love, or strife ; 

But it will not be long 100 

Ere this be thrown aside, 

And with new joy and pride 
The little Actor cons another part ; 
Filling from time to time his "humorous stage" 
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, 105 

That Life brings with her in her equipage ; 

As if his whole vocation 

Were endless imitation. 


Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie 

Thy Soul's immensity ; no 

Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep 
Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, 
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, 
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, 

Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! 115 

On whom those truths do rest, 
Which we are toiling all our lives to find, 
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave ; 
Thou, over whom thy Immortality 

Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave, 120 

A Presence which is not to be put by ; 

109 O Thou whose outward seeming MS. M: exterior presence MS. L, 
corr. to text 115 Thou mighty MS. M 

118 so 1820: not in MSS.-1815 119 O Thou on whom MS. M 

121/2 To whom the grave 

Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight 

Of day or the warm light, 

A place of thought where we in waiting lie ; 1807-15 : so MS. M, but 
Thou unto whom . . . and living place for place of thought 

ODE 283 

Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might 

Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, 

Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke 

The years to bring the inevitable yoke, 125 

Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife ? 

Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, 

And custom lie upon thee with a weight, 

Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life ! 


O joy! that in our embers 130 

Is something that doth live, 
That nature yet remembers 
What was so fugitive ! 

The thought of our past years in me doth breed 
Perpetual benediction : not indeed 135 

For that which is most worthy to be blest ; 
Delight and liberty, the simple creed 
Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, 
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast : 

Not for these I raise 140 

The song of thanks and praise ; 
But for those obstinate questionings 
Of sense and outward things, 
Fallings from us, vanishings ; 

Blank misgivings of a Creature 145 

Moving about in worlds not realised, 
High instincts before which our mortal Nature 
Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised : 
But for those first affections, 

Those shadowy recollections, 150 

Which, be they what they may, 
Are yet the fountain light of all our day, 
Are yet a master light of all our seeing ; 

122-3 not in MSS. L,M 123 so 1815: Of untam'd pleasures, on thy 

Being's height 1 807 : so MS . L but nature corr. to being. 1 27/ 8 The world 
upon thy noble nature seize, With all its vanities MSS.L, B 135 benedic- 
tion 1827: benedictions MSS. 1820 138-9 busy ... new-fledged hopes 
still fluttering 1815: fluttering . . . new-born hope for ever MSS., 1807 
142-5 But for those blank misgivings of a Creature MS. M 153 a] the 
MS. M 
153/4 Throw off from us, or mitigate, the spell 

Of that strong frame of sense in which we dwell ; MS. L 

284 ODE 

Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make 
Our noisy years seem moments in the being 155 

Of the eternal Silence : truths that wake, 

To perish never ; 
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, 

Nor Man nor Boy, 

Nor all that is at enmity with joy, 160 

Can utterly abolish or destroy ! 

Hence in a season of calm weather 

Though inland far we be, 
Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea 

Which brought us hither, 165 

Can in a moment travel thither, 
And see the Children sport upon the shore, 
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. 

Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song! 

And let the young Lambs bound 170 

As to the tabor's sound ! 
We in thought will join your throng, 

Ye that pipe and ye that play, 

Ye that through your hearts to-day 

Feel the gladness of the May ! 1 75 

What though the radiance which was once so bright 
Be now for ever taken from my sight, 

Though nothing can bring back the hour 
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower ; 

We will grieve not, rather find t8o 

Strength in what remains behind ; 

In the primal sympathy 

Which having been must ever be ; 

In the soothing thoughts that spring 

Out of human suffering ; 185 

In the faith that looks through death, 
In years that bring the philosophic mind. 

154 80 1815: . . . cherish us, and make MSS., 1807 
176-9 What though it be past the hour 

Of splendour etc. MS. M 
182-3 not in MSS. (but added to MS. L) 

ODE 285 


And 0, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, 

Forebode not any severing of our loves ! 

Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might ; 190 

I only have relinquished one delight 

To live beneath your more habitual sway. 

I love the Brooks which down their channels fret, 

Even more than when I tripped lightly as they ; 

The innocent brightness of a new-born Day 195 

Is lovely yet ; 

The Clouds that gather round the setting sun 
Do take a sober colouring from an eye 
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; 
Another race hath been, and other palms are won. 200 

Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, 
To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 

188 Hills] fields MS. M. 

189 Forbode not 1837: Think not of MSS. 1832 
191/2 Divine indeed of sense 

A blessed influence MS. B. : MS. L. (but deleted) 

192 To acknowledge under you a higher sway MSS. L., B. 193-4 Dear 
are the Brooks which . . . More dear than MSS. L., B. 
196/7 Nor (Not) unaccompanied with blithe desire 

Though many a serious pleasure it inspire MS. L. (deleted) 
198 a sober] an awful MS. L., corr. to text 


Translations of Virgil's JSneid I, II, and III, and other 



[Translated 1819-23; I 901-1043 (Virgil 657-756) printed in 
The Philological Museum, 1832] 


It is proper to premise that the first Couplet of this Translation is adopted 
from Pitt ; as are likewise two Couplets in the second Book ; and three 
or four lines, in different parts, are taken from Dryden. A few expressions 
will also be found, which, following the Original closely, are the same as 
the preceding Translators have unavoidably employed. 


ARMS, and the Man I sing, the first who bore 

His course to Latium from the Trojan shore, 

A Fugitive of Fate : long time was He \ 

By Powers celestial toss'd on land and sea, 1 

Through wrathful Juno's far-famed enmity ;J 5 

Much, too, from war endured ; till new abodes 

He planted, and in Latium fix'd his Gods ; 

Whence flowed the Latin People ; whence have come 

The Alban Sires, and Walls of lofty Rome. 

Say, Muse, what Powers were wrong 'd, what grievance drove 10 
To such extremity the Spouse of Jove, 
Labouring to wrap in perils, to astound \ 

With woes, a Man for piety renown'd ! | 

In heavenly breasts is such resentment found ? J 

Right opposite tbB Italian Coast there stood 15 

An ancient City, far from Tiber's flood, 
Carthage its name ; a Colony of Tyre, 
Rich, strong, and bent on war with fierce desire. 
No region, not even Samos, was so graced 

By Juno's favour ; here her Arms were placed, 20 

Here lodged her Chariot ; and unbounded scope, 
Even then, the Goddess gave to partial hope ; 
Her aim (if Fate such triumph will allow) 
That to this Nation all the world shall bow. 

But Fame had told her that a Race, from Troy 25 

Derived, the Tyrian ramparts would destroy ; 

5 Through Juno's unrelenting MS. 


That from this stock a People, proud in war. 

And train'd to spread dominion wide and far, 

Should come, and through her favorite Lybian State 

Spread utter ruin ; such the doom of Fate. 30 

In fear of this, while busy thought recalls 

The war she raised against the Trojan Walls 

For her lov'd Argos (and, with these combined, 

Work'd other causes rankling in her mind, 

The judgement given by Paris, and the slight 35 

Her beauty had receiv'd on Ida's height, 

Th' undying hatred which the Race had bred, 

And honours given to ravish'd Ganymed), 

Saturnian Juno far from Latium chaced 

The Trojans, tossed upon the watery waste ; 40 

Unhappy relics of the Grecian spear 

And of the dire Achilles ! Many a year 

They roam'd ero Fate's decision was fulfill'd, 

Such arduous toil it was the Roman State to build. 

Sicilian headlands scarcely out of sight, 45 

They spread the canvas with a fresh delight ; 
Then Juno, brooding o'er the eternal wound, 
Thus inly; '"Must I vanquish'd quit the ground 
Of my attempt ? Or impotently toil 

To bar the Trojans from the Italian soil ? 50 

For the Fates thwart me ; yet could Pallas raise 
'Mid Argive vessels a destructive blaze, 
And in the Deep plunge all, for fault of one, 
The desperate frenzy of Oileus' Son ; 

She from the clouds the bolt of Jove might cast, 55 

And ships and sea deliver to the blast! 
Him, flames ejecting from a bosom fraught 
With sulphurous fire, she in a whirlwind caught, 
And on a sharp rock fix'd ; but I who move 

Heaven's Queen, the Sister and the Wife of Jove, 60 

Wage with one Race the war I waged of yore ! \ 
Who then, henceforth, will Juno's name adore ? > 
Her altars grace with gifts, her aid implore ?" J 

These things revolved in fiery discontent, 

Her course the Goddess to -^Eolia bent, 65 

Country of lowering clouds, where South -winds rave ; 
There ^Eolus, within a spacious cave 
With sovereign power controuls the struggling Winds, 
And the sonorous Storms in durance binds. 

Loud, loud the mountain murmurs as they wreak 70 

Their scorn upon the barriers. On a peak 


High-seated, ^Eolus his sceptre sways, 

Soothes their fierce temper, and their wrath allays. 

This did he not, sea, earth, and heaven's vast deep 

Would follow them, entangled in the sweep ; 75 

But in black caves the Sire Omnipotent 

The winds sequester'd, fearing such event ; 

Heap'd over them vast mountains, and assigned 

A Monarch, that should rule the blustering kind ; 

By stedfast laws their violence restrain, 80 

And give, on due command, a loosen'd rein. 

As she approached, thus spake the suppliant Queen: 

"^olus! (for the Sire of Gods and men 

On thee confers the power to tranquillise 

The troubFd waves, or summon them to rise) 85 

A Race, my Foes, bears o'er the troubled Sea 

Troy and her conquer'd Gods to Italy. 

Throw power into the winds ; the ships submerge, 

Or part, and give their bodies to the surge. 

Twice seven fair Nymphs await on my command, 90 

All beautiful ; the fairest of the Band, 

Deiopeia, such desert to crown, 

Will I, by stedfast wedlock, make thine own ; 

In everlasting fellowship with thee 

To dwell, and yield a beauteous progeny." 95 

To this the God: "O Queen, declare thy will 
And be it mine the mandate to fulfill. 
To thee I owe my sceptre, and the place 
Jove's favour hath assign'd me ; through thy grace 
I at the banquets of the Gods recline ; 100 

And my whole empire is a gift of thine." 

When ^Eolus had ceased, his spear he bent 
Full on the quarter where the winds were pent, 
And smote the mountain. Forth, where way was made, 
Rush his wild Ministers; the land pervade, 105 

And fasten on the Deep. There Eurus, there 
Notus, and Africus unused to spare 
His tempests, work with congregated power, 
To upturn the abyss, and roll the unwieldy waves ashore. 
Clamour of Men ensues, and crash of shrouds, no 

Heaven and the day by the instantaneous clouds 
Are ravish'd from the Trojans ; on the floods 
Black night descends, and, palpably, there broods. 
The thundering Poles incessantly unsheath 
Their fires, and all things threaten instant death. 115 


AppalPd, and with slack limbs ^Eneae stands ; 
He groans, and heavenward lifting his clasp'd hands, 
Exclaims: "Thrice happy they who chanc'd to fall 
In front of lofty Ilium's sacred Wall, 

Their parents witnessing their end ; Oh why, 120 

Bravest of Greeks, Tydides, could not I 
Pour out my willing spirit through a wound 
From thy right hand received, on Trojan ground ? 
Where Hector lies, subjected to the spear 

Of the invincible Achilles ; where 125 

The great Sarpedon sleeps; and o'er the plain \ 
Soft Simois whirls helmet, and shield, and men, > 
Throngs of the Brave in fearless combat slain!"; 

While thus he spake, the Aquilonian gale 

Smote from the front upon his driving Sail, 130 

And heaved the thwarted billows to the sky, 
Round the Ship labouring in extremity. 
Help from her shatter 'd oars in vain she craves ; 
Then veers the prow, exposing to the waves 

Her side ; and lo ! a surge, to mountain height 135 

Gathering, prepares to burst with its whole weight. 
Those hang aloft, as if in air : to these 
Earth is disclosed between the boiling seas 
Whirl'd on by Notus, three encounter shocks 

In the main sea, received from latent rocks ; 140 

Rocks stretched in dorsal ridge of rugged frame 
On the Deep's surface ; AI/TABS is the name 
By which the Italians mark them. Three the force 
Of Eurus hurries from an open course 

On straits and Shallows, dashes on the strand, 145 

And girds the wreck about with heaps of sand. 
Another, on which Lyeus and his Mate, 
Faithful Orontes, share a common fate, 
As his own eyes full plainly can discern, 

By a huge wave is swept from prow to stern ; 150 

Headlong the Pilot falls ; thrice whirl'd around, 
The Ship is buried in the gulph profound. 

Amid the boundless eddy a lost Few, \ 

Drowning, or drown'd, emerge to casual view ; ) 

On waves which planks, and arms, and Trojan wealth bestrew. J 155 
Over the strong-ribb'd pinnace, in which sails 
Ilioneus, the Hurricane prevails ; 
Now conquers Abas, then the Ships that hold 
Valiant Achates, and Alethes old ; 

The joints all loosening in their sides, they drink 160 

The hostile brine through many a greedy chink. 
917.17 IV U 


Meanwhile, what strife disturb 'd the roaring sea, 
And for what outrages the storm was free, 
Troubling the Ocean to its inmost caves, 

Neptune perceiv'd incensed; and o'er the waves 165 

Forth -looking with a stedfast brow and eye 
Raised from the Deep in placid majesty, 
He saw the Trojan Gallies scattered wide, \ 

The men they bore oppress'd and terrified ; J 

Waters and ruinous Heaven against their peace allied.; 170 

Nor from the Brother was conceal'd the heat 
Of Juno's anger, and each dark deceit. 
Eurus he call'd, and Zephyrus, and the Pair, 
Who at his bidding quit the fields of air, 

He thus address'd; "Upon your Birth and Kind 175 

Have ye presumed with confidence so blind 
As, heedless of my Godhead, to perplex 
The Land with uproar, and the Sea to vex ; 
Which by your act, O winds ! thus fiercely heaves 
Whom I but better calm the troubled waves. 180 

Henceforth, atonement shall not prove so slight 
For such a trespass ; to your King take flight, 
And say that not to Him, but unto Me, 
Fate hath assigned this watery sovereignty ; 

Mine is the Trident his a rocky Hold, 185 

Thy mansion, Eurus ! vaunting uncontroll'd, 
Let JSolus there occupy his hall, 
And in that prison-house the winds enthrall!" 

He spake ; and, quicker than the word, his will 
Felt through the sea abates each tumid hill, 190 

Quiets the deep, and silences the shores, 
And to a cloudless heaven the sun restores. 
Cymothoe shoves, with leaning Triton's aid, 
The stranded ships or Neptune from their bed 
With his own Trident lifts them; then divides \ 195 

The sluggish heaps of sand and gently glides, 1 
Skimming, on light smooth wheels, the level tides. J 
Thus oft, when a sedition hath ensued, 
Arousing all the ignoble multitude, 

Straight through the air do stones and torches fly, 200 

With every missile frenzy can supply ; 
Then, if a venerable Man step forth, 
Strong through acknowledged piety and worth, 
Hush'd at the sight into mute peace, all stand 
Listening, with eyes and ears at his command ; 205 

Their minds to him are subject; and the rage 


That burns within their breasts his lenient words assuage. 

So fell the Sea's whole tumult, overawed 

Then, when the Sire, casting his eyes abroad, 

Turns under open Heaven his docile Steeds, 210 

And with his flowing Chariot smoothly speeds. 

The worn-out Trojans, seeking land where'er 
The nearest coast invites, for Lybia steer. 
There is a Bay whose deep retirement hides \ 
The place where Nature's self a Port provides, } 215 

Framed by a friendly island's jutting sides, J 
Bulwark from which the billows of the Main 
Becoil upon themselves, spending their force in vain. 
Vast rocks are here ; and, safe beneath the brows 
Of two heaven-threatening Cliffs, the Floods repose. 220 

Glancing aloft in bright theatric show 
Woods wave, and gloomily impend below ; 
Right opposite this pomp of sylvan shade, 
Wild crags and lowering rocks a cave have made ; 
Within, sweet waters gush ; and all bestrown 225 

Is the cool floor with seats of living stone ; 
Cell of the Nymphs, no chains, no anchors, here 
Bind the tired vessels, floating without fear ; 
Led by ^Eneas, in this shelter meet 

Seven ships, the scanty relics of his Fleet ; 230 

The Crews, athirst with longings for the land, 
Here disembark, and range the wish 'd -for strand ; 
Or on the sunny shore their limbs recline, 
Heavy with dropping ooze, and drench'd with brine. 
Achates, from a smitten flint, receives 235 

The spark upon a bed of fostering leaves ; 
Dry fuel on the natural hearth he lays, 
And speedily provokes a mounting blaze. 
Then forth they bring, not utterly forlorn, 

The needful implements, and injured corn, 240 

Bruise it with stones, and by the aid of fire 
Prepare the nutriment their frames require. 

Meanwhile ^Eneas mounts a cliff, to gain 
An unobstructed prospect of the Main ; 

Happy if thence his wistful eyes may mark 245 

The harassed Antheus, or some Phrygian Bark, 
Or Capys, or the guardian Sign descry 
Which, at the stern, Caicus bears on high. 
No Sail appears in sight, nor toiling oar ; 
Only he spies three Stags upon the shore ; 250 


Behind, whole herds are following where these lead, 

And in long order through the vallies feed. 

He stops and, with the bow, he seiz'd the store 

Of swift- wing 'd arrows which Achates bore ; 

And first the Leaders to his shafts have bow'd 255 

Their heads elate with branching horns ; the Crowd 

Are stricken next ; and all the affrighted Drove 

Fly in confusion to the leafy grove. 

Nor from the weapons doth his hand refrain, "j 

Till Seven, a Stag for every Ship, are slain, > 260 

And with their bulky bodies press the plain. J 

Thence to the port he hies, divides the spoil ; 

And deals out wine, which on Trinacria's soil, 

Acestes stored for his departing Guest ; 

Then with these words he soothes each sorrowing breast. 265 

"O Friends, not unacquainted with your share 
Of misery, ere doom'd these ills to bear! 
O ye, whom worse afflictions could not bend ! 
Jove also hath for these prepared an end. 

The voices of dread Scylla ye have heard, 270 

Her belt of rabid mouths your prows have near'd ; 
Ye shunn'd with peril the Cyclopian den, 
Cast off your fears, resume the hearts of men ! 
Hereafter, this our present lot may be 

A cherish'd object for pleased memory. 275 

Through strange mishaps, through hazards manifold 
And various, we our course to Latium hold ; 
There, Fate a settled habitation shows ; 
There, Trojan empire (this, too, Fate allows) 

Shall be revived. Endure ; with patience wait ; 280 

Yourselves reserving for a happier state!" 

^Eneas thus, though sidk with weight of care, 
Strives, by apt words their spirits to repair ; 
The hope he does not feel his countenance feigns, 
And deep within he smothers his own pains. 285 

They seize the Quarry ; for the feast prepare ; 
Part use their skill the carcase to lay bare, 
Stripping from off the limbs the dappled hide ; 
And Part the palpitating flesh divide ; 

The portions some expose to naked fire, 290 

Some steep in cauldrons where the flames aspire. 
Not wanting utensils, they spread the board ; 
And soon their wasted vigour is restored ; 
While o'er green turf diffused, in genial mood 
They quaff the mellow wine, nor spare the forest food. 295 


All hunger thus appeased, they ask in thought 

For friends, with long discourses, vainly sought: 

Hope, fear, and doubt contend if yet they live, "j 

Or have endured the last ; nor can receive 1 

The obsequies a duteous voice might give. J 300 

Apart, for Lycas mourns the pious Chief; 

For Amycus is touch'd with silent grief; 

For Gyas, for Cloanthes ; and the Crew 

That with Orontes perish 'd in his view. 

So finished their repast, while on the crown 305 

Of Heaven stood Jupiter ; whence looking down, 
He traced the sea where winged vessels glide, 
Saw Lands, and shores, the Nations scatter'd wide ; 
And, lastly, from that all-commanding Height, 
He view'd the Lybian realms with stedfast sight. 310 

To him, revolving mortal hopes and fears, 
Venus (her shining eyes suffused with tears) 
Thus, sorrowing, spake: "O Sire! who rul'st the way 
Of Men and Gods with thy eternal sway, 

And aw'st with thunder, what offence, unfit 315 

For pardon, could my much-lov'd Son commit 
The Trojans what thine anger to awake ? 
That, after such dire loss, they for the sake 
Of Italy see all the world denied 

To their tired hopes, and nowhere may abide ! 320 

For, that the Romans hence should draw their birth 
As years roll round, even hence, and govern earth 
With power supreme, from Teucer's Line restor'd 
Such was (O Father, why this change ?) thy word. 
From this, when Troy had perish 'd, for my grief 325 

(Fates balancing with fates) I found relief; 
Like fortune follows : when shall thy decree 
Close, mighty King, this long adversity ? 
Antenor, from amid the Grecian hosts 

Escaped, could thrid Illyria's sinuous coasts ; 330 

Pierce the Lyburnian realms ; o'erclimb the Fountain 
Of loud Timarus, whence the murmuring Mountain 
A nine-mouth'd channel to the torrent yields, 
That rolls its headlong sea, a terror to the fields. 
Yet to his Paduan seats he safely came ; 335 

A City built, whose People bear his name ; 
There hung his Trojan Arms, where now he knows 
The consummation of entire repose. 

But we, thy progeny, allow'd to boast \ 

Of future Heaven betray'd, our Navy lost 1 340 

Through wrath of One, are driven far from the Italian coast, j 


Is piety thus honour 'd ? Doth thy grace 

Thus in our hands the allotted sceptre place ? " 

On whom the Sire of Gods and human Kind 

Half -smiling, tum'd the look that stills the wind 345 

And clears the heavens ; then, touching with light kiss 
His Daughter's lip, he speaks : 

"Thy griefs dismiss: 

And, Cytherea, these forebodings spare ; 
No wavering fates deceive the objects of thy care, 
Lavinian Walls full surely wilt thou see, 35 o 

The promised City ; and, upborne by thee, 
Magnanimous ^Eneas yet shall range 
The starry heavens ; nor doth my purpose change. 
He (since thy soul is troubled I will raise 

Things from their depths, and open Fate's dark ways) 355 

Shall wage dread wars in Italy, abate 
Fierce Nations, build a Town and rear a State ; 
Till three revolving summers have beheld 
His Latian kingdom, the Rutuliaiis quell'd. 

But young Ascanius (llus heretofore, 360 

Name which he held till Ilium was no more, 
Now called lulus) while the months repeat 
Their course, and thirty annual orbs complete, 
Shall reign, and quit Lavinium to preside 

O'er Alba-longa, sternly fortified. 365 

Here, under Chiefs of this Hectorian Race, 
Three hundred years shall empire hold her place, 
Ere Ilia, royal Priestess, gives to earth 
From the embrace of Mars, a double birth. 

Then Romulus, the elder, proudly drest 370 

In tawny wolf-skin, his memorial vest, 
Mavortian Walls, his Father's Seat, shall frame, 
And from himself, the People Romans name. 
To these I give dominion that shall climb 

Unchecked by space, uncircumscrib'd by time; 375 

An empire without end. Even Juno, driven 
To agitate with fear earth, sea and heaven, 
With better mind shall for the past atone : \ 

Prepar'd with me to cherish as her own | 

The Romans, lords o'er earth, The Nation of the Gown. J 380 

So 'tis decreed. As circling times roll on 
Phthia shall fall, Mycenae shall be won ; 
Descendants of Assaracus shall reign 
O'er Argos subject to the Victor's chain. 
From a fair Stem shall Trojan Caesar rise ; 385 


Ocean may terminate his power; the skies 

Can be the only limit of his fame ; 

A Julius he, inheriting the name 

From great lulus. Fearless shalt thou greet 

The Ruler, when to his celestial Seat 390 

He shall ascend, spoil -laden from the East ; 

He, too, a God to be with vows address'd. 

Then shall a rugged Age, full long defiTd 

With cruel wars, grow placable and mild ; 

Then hoary Faith, and Vesta, shall delight^ 395 

To speak their laws, Quirinus shall unite j 

With his twin Brother to uphold the right. J 

Fast shall be closed the iron-bolted Gates 

Upon whose dreadful issues Janus waits 

Within, on high-piled Arms, and from behind 400 

With countless links of brazen chains confin'd 

Shall Fury sit, breathing unholy threats 

From his ensanguin'd mouth that impotently frets." 

This utter'd, Maia's Son he sends from high 

To embolden Tyrian hospitality ; 405 

Lest haply Dido, ignorant of fate, 
Should chase the Wanderers from her rising State. 
He through the azure region works the oars 
Of his swift wings, and lights on Lybian Shores. 
Prompt is he there his mission to fulfil; 410 

The Tyrians soften, yielding to Jove's will ; 
And, above all, their Queen receives a mind 
Fearless of harm, and to the Trojans kind. 

JEneas, much revolving through the night, 

Rose with the earliest break of friendly light ; 415 

Resolv'd to certify by instant quest 
Who ruTd the uncultur'd region man or beast. 
Forthwith he hides, beneath a rocky cove, 
His Fleet, o'ershadow'd by the pendent grove; 
And, brandishing two javelins, quits the Bay, 420 

Achates sole companion of his way. 
While they were journeying thus, before him stood 
His Mother, met within a shady wood. 
The habit of a virgin did she wear ; 

Her aspect suitable, her gait, and air ; 435 

Arm'd like a Spartan Virgin, or of mien 
Such as in Thrace Harpalyce is seen, 
Urging to weariness the fiery horse, 
Outstripping Hebrus in his headlong course. 


Light o'er her shoulders had she given the bow 430 

To hang ; her tresses on the wind to flow ; 

A Huntress with bare knee ; a knot upbound 

The folds of that loose vest, which else had swept the ground. 

"Ho!" she exclaim'd, their words preventing, "say 

Have you not seen some Huntress here astray, 435 

One of my Sisters, with a quiver graced ; \ 

Clothed by the spotted lynx, and o'er the waste 1 

Pressing the foaming boar, with outcry chased ?" J 

Thus Venus ; thus her Son forthwith replied, 
"None of thy Sisters have we here espied, 440 

None have we heard : O Virgin ! in pure grace 
Teach me to name Thee ; for no mortal face 
Is thine, nor bears thy voice a human sound ; 
A Goddess surely, worthy to be own'd 

By Phoebus as a Sister or thy Line 445 

Is haply of the Nymphs ; O Power divine 
Be thou propitious ! and, whoe'er thou art, 
Lighten our labour ; tell us in what part 
Of earth we roam, who these wild precincts trace, 
Ignorant alike of person and of place ! 450 

Not as intruders come we : but were tost 
By winds and waters on this savage coast. 
Vouchsafe thy answer ; victims oft shall fall 
By this right hand, while on thy name we call." 

Then Venus ; "Offerings these which I disclaim 455 

The Tyrian Maids who chase the sylvan game 
Bear thus a quiver slung their necks behind, 
With purple buskins thus their ancles bind ; 
Learn, Wanderers, that a Punic Bealm you see. 
Tyrians the men, Agenor's progeny ; 460 

But Lybian deem the soil ; the natives are 
Haughty and fiercfc, intractable in war. 
Here Dido reigns ; from Tyre compell'd to flee 
By an unnatural Brother's perfidy ; 

Deep was the wrong ; nor would it aught avail 465 

Should we do more than skim the doleful tale. 
Sichseus lov'd her as his wedded Mate, 
The richest Lord of the Phoenician State ; 
A Virgin She, when from her Father's hands 

By love induced, she pass'd to nuptial bands ; 470 

Unhappy Union ! for to evil prone, 
Worst of bad men, her Brother held the throne ; 
Dire fury came among them, and, made bold 
By that blind appetite, the thirst of gold, 


He, feeling not, or scorning what was due 475 

To a Wife's tender love, Sichseus slew ; 

Rush'd on him unawares, and laid him low 

Before the Altar, with an impious blow. 

His arts conceal'd the crime, and gave vain scope 

In Dido's bosom to a trembling hope. 480 

But in a dream appeared the unburied Man, 

Lifting a visage wondrous pale and wan ; 

Urged her to instant flight, and shew'd the Ground 

Where hoards of ancient treasure might be found, 

Needful assistance. By the Vision sway'd, 485 

Dido looks out for fellowship and aid. 

They meet, who loathe the Tyrant, or who fear ; 

And, as some well-trimm'd Ships were lying near, 

This help they seiz'd ; and o'er the water fled 

With all Pygmalion's wealth ; a Woman at their head. 490 

The Exiles reach'd the Spot, where soon your eyes 

Shall see the Turrets of New Carthage rise ; 

There purchased BABCA ; so they nam'd the Ground 

From the bull's hide whose thongs had girt it round. 

Now say who are Ye ? Whence and whither bound ?" 495 

He answer 'd, deeply sighing, "To their springs 
Should I trace back the principles of things 
For you, at leisure listening to our woes, \ 

Vesper, mid gathering shadows to repose > 

Might lead the day, before the Tale would close.; 500 

From ancient Troy, if haply ye have heard 
The name of Troy, through various seas we steer'd, 
Until on Lybian Shores an adverse blast 
By chance not rare our shatter'd vessels cast. 

^Eneas am I, wheresoe'er I go 505 

Carrying the Gods I rescued from the Foe, 
When Troy was overthrown. A Man you see 
Fam'd above Earth for acts of piety ; 
Italy is my wish'd-for resting place ; 

There doth my Country lie, among a Race 510 

Sprung from high Jove. The Phrygian Sea I tried 
With thrice ten Ships which Ida's Grove supplied, 
My Goddess Mother pointing out the way, 
Nor did unwilling Fates oppose their sway. 

Seven, scarcely, of that number now are left 515 

By tempests torn ; myself unknown, bereft, 
And destitute, explore the Lybian Waste, 

497 those melancholy things MS. 


Alike from Europe and from Asia chas'd." 

He spake ; nor haply at this point had clos'd 

His mournful words: but Venus interpos'd. 520 

"Whoe'er thou art, I trust, the heavenly Powers 
Disown thee not, so near the Punic Towers ; 
But hasten to the Queen's imperial Court ; 
Thy Friends survive ; their Ships are safe in port, 
Indebted for the shelter which they find 525 

To alter'd courses of the rough North-wind ; 
Unless fond Parents taught my simple youth 
Deceitful auguries, I announce the truth. 
Behold yon twelve fair Swans, a joyous troop ! 
Them did the Bird of Jove, with threatening swoop 530 

Rout, in mid Heaven dispers'd ; but now again 
Have they assembled, and in order'd train 
These touch, while those look down upon, the plain, 
Hovering, and wheeling round with tuneful voice. 
As in recovered union all rejoice ; 535 

So, with their Crews, thy Ships in harbour lie, 
Or to some haven's mouth are drawing nigh 
With every Sail full-spread ; but Thou proceed ; 
And fear no hindrance where thy path shall lead." 

She spake ; and, as she turn'd away, all bright 54 

Appear 'd her neck, imbued with roseate light ; 
And from the exalted region of her head 
Ambrosial hair a sudden fragrance shed, 
Odours divinely breathing ; her Vest flow'd 

Down to her feet ; and gait and motion shew'd 545 

The unquestionable Goddess. Whom his eyes^j 
Had seen and whom his soul could recognise, > 
His filial voice pursueth as she flies. J 

"Why dost Thou, cruel as the rest, delude 

Thy Son with Phantoms evermore renew 'd ? 550 

Why not allow me hand with hand to join, 
To hear thy genuine voice, and to reply with mine ?" 
This chiding utter 'd from a troubl'd breast, 
He to the appointed walls his steps address'd. 
But Venus round him threw, as on they fare, 555 

Impenetrable veil of misty air ; 

That none might see, or touch them with rude hand. 
Obstruct their journey, or its cause demand. 
She, borne aloft, resumes the joyful road 
That leads to Paphos her belov'd abode: 560 

534 And wheel on whizzing wings with tuneful voice MS., S. H. corr. 


There stands her Temple ; garlands fresh and fair \ 
Breathe round a hundred Altars hung, which there J 
Burn with Sabean incense, scenting all the air. / 

They who had measur'd a swift course were now 
Climbing, as swift, a hill of lofty brow, 565 

That overhangs wide compass of the Town, 
And on the turrets, which it fronts, looks down, 
^Eneas views the City pile on pile 
Rising a place of sordid Huts erewhile ; 

And, as he looks, the gates, the stretching ways, 57o 

The stir, the din, encreasing wonder raise. 
The Tyrians work one spirit in the whole ; 
These stretch the walls ; these labour to uproll 
Stones for the Citadel, with all their might ; 

These, for new Structures having mark'd a site, 575 

Intrench the circuit. Some on laws debate, 
Or chuse a Senate for the infant State ; 
Some dig the haven out ; some toil to place 
A Theatre, on deep arid solid base ; 

Some from the rock hew columns, to compose 580 

A goodly ornament for future Shows. 
Fresh summer calls the Bees such tasks to ply 
Through flowery grounds, beneath a summer sky ; 
When first they lead their progeny abroad, 

Each fit to undertake his several load ; 585 

Or in a mass the liquid produce blend, 
And with pure nectar every cell distend ; 
Or, fast as homeward Labourers arrive, \ 

Receive the freight they bring ; or mustering, drive > 
The Drones, a sluggard people, from the hive. J 590 

Glows the vast work ; while thyme -clad hills and plains 
Scent the pure honey that rewards their pains. 
44 Oh fortunate!" the Chief, ^neas, cries \ 
As on the aspiring Town he casts his eyes, J 

"Fortunate Ye, whose walls are free to rise !" J 593 

Then, strange to tell ! with mist around him thrown, 
In crowds he mingles, yet is seen by none. 

Within the Town, a central Grove display 'd 
Its ample texture of delightful shade. 

The storm- vex 'd Tyrians, newly -landed, found 600 

A hopeful sign while digging there the ground ; 
The head of a fierce horse from earth they drew, 
By Juno's self presented to their view ; 
Presage of martial fame, and hardy toil 


Bestow'd through ages on a generous soil, 605 

Sidonian Dido here a Structure high 

Rais'd to the tutelary Deity, 

Rich with the Offerings through the Temple pour'd, 

And bright with Juno's Image, there ador'd. 

High rose, with steps, the brazen Porch; the Beams 610 

With brass were fasten 'd ; and metallic gleams 

Flashed from the valves of brazen doors, forth -sent 

While on resounding hinges to and fro they went. 

Within this Grove ^Eneas first beheld 

A novel sight, by which his fears were quell'd ; 615 

Here first gave way to hope, so long withstood, 

And look'd through present ill to future good. 

For while, expectant of the Queen, the stores 

Of that far -spreading Temple he explores ; 

Admires the strife of labour ; nor forbears \ 620 

To ponder o'er the lot of noble cares J 

Which the young City for herself prepares ; J 

He meets the Wars of Ilium ; every Fight, 

In due succession, offer'd to his sight. 

There he beholds Atrides, Priam here, 625 

And that stern Chief who was to both severe. 

He stopp'd; and, not without a sigh, exclaim'd: 

"By whom, Achates! hath not Troy been nam'd ? 

What region of the earth but overflows 

With us, and the memorials of our woes ? 630 

Lo Priamus ! Here also do they raise 

To virtuous deeds fit monument of praise ; 

Tears for the frail estate of human kind 

Are shed ; and mortal changes touch the mind." 

He spake (nor might the gushing tears controul) ; 635 

And with an empty Picture feeds his soul. 

He saw the Greeks fast flying o'er the plain, 
The Trojan Youth how in pursuit they strain! 
There, o'er the Phrygians routed in the war, 

Crested Achilles hanging from his Car. 640 

Next, to near view the painted wall presents 
The fate of Rhesus, and his snow-white tents, 
In the first sleep of silent night, betray 'd \ 
To the wide-wasting sword of Diomed, J 

Who to the camp the fiery horses led, J 645 

Ere they from Trojan stalls had tasted food, 
Or stoop 'd their heads to drink Scamander's flood. 
The Stripling Troilus he next espied, 
Flying, his arms now lost, or flung aside ; 


111 -mateh'd with fierce Achilles! From the fight 650 

He, by his horses borne in desperate flight, 

Cleaves to his empty Chariot, on the plain 

Supinely stretch'd, yet grasping still the rein ; 

Along the earth are dragg'd his neck and hair ; 

The dust is mark'd by his inverted spear. 655 

Meanwhile, with tresses long and loose, a train 

Of Trojan Matrons seek Minerva's Fane 

As on they bear the dedicated Veil, 

They beat their own sad breasts with suppliant wail. 

The Goddess heeds not offerings, prayers, nor cries, 660 

And on the ground are fix'd her sullen eyes. 

Thrice had incens'd Achilles whirl 'd amain 

About Troy Wall, the Corse of Hector slain, 

And barters now that corse for proffer'd gold. 

What grief, the Spoils and Chariot to behold ! 665 

And, suppliant, near his Friend's dead body, stands 

Old Priam, stretching forth his unarm'd hands ! 

Himself, mid Grecian Chiefs, he can espy ; 

And saw the oriental blazonry 

Of swarthy Memnon, and the Host he leads ; 670 

Her lunar shields Penthesilea leads ; 

A zone her mutilated breast hath bound ; 

And She, exulting on the embattled ground 

A Virgin Warrior, with a Virgin Train, 

Dares in the peril to conflict with Men. 675 

While on these animated pictures gaz'd 
The Dardan Chief, enwrapt, disturb'd, amaz'd ; 
With a long retinue of Youth, the Queen 
Ascends the Temple ; lovely was her mien ; 

And her form beautiful as Earth has seen ; 680 

Thus, where Eurotas flows, or on the heights 
Of Cynthus, where Diana oft delights 
To train her Nymphs, and lead the Choirs along, 
Oreads, in thousands gathering, round her throng ; 
Where'er she moves, where'er the Goddess bears 683 

Her pendant sheaf of arrows, she appears 
Far, far above the immortal Company ; 
Latona's breast is thrill'd with silent ecstasy. 
Even with such lofty bearing Dido pass'd 

Among the busy crowd ; such looks she cast 690 

Urging the various works, with mind intent 
On future empire. Through the Porch she went, 
And compass'd round with arm'd Attendants, sate 
Beneath the Temple's dome, upon a Throne of State, 


There, laws she gave ; divided justly there 695 

The labour ; or by lot assigned to each his share. 

When, turning from the Throne a casual glance, 

^Eneas saw an eager Crowd advance 

With various Leaders, whom the storms of Heaven 

Had scattered, and to other shores had driven. 700 

With Antheus and Sergestus there appear'd 

The brave Cloanthes, followers long endear 'd. 

Joy smote his heart, joy temper'd with strange awe ; 

Achates, in like sort, by what he saw 

Was smitten ; and the hands of both were bent 705 

On instant greeting; but they fear'd the event. 

Stifling their wish, within that cloud involv'd, 

They wait until the mystery shall be solv'd 

What has befallen their Friends ; upon what shore 

The Fle6t is left, and what they would implore ; 710 

For Delegates from every Ship they were, 

And sought the Temple with a clamorous prayer. 

All entered, and, leave given, with tranquil breast 
Ilioneus preferr'd their joint request: 

"O Queen! empower'd by Jupiter to found 715 

A hopeful City on this desart ground ; 
To whom he gives the curb, and guiding rein 
Of Justice, a proud People to restrain, 
We, wretched Trojans, rescued from a Fleet 

Long toss'd through every Sea, thy aid entreat ; 720 

Let, at thy voice, the unhallow'd fire forbear \ 
To touch our ships ; a righteous People spare ; > 
And on our fortunes look with nearer care ! J 
We neither seek as plunderers your abodes, 

Nor would our swords molest your household Gods ; 725 

Our spirit tempts us not such course to try ; 
Nor do the Vanquished lift their heads so high. 
There is a Country calTd by Men of Greece 
Hesperia, strong in arms, the soil of large increase, 
(Enotrians held it ; Men of later fame 730 

Call it Italia, from their Leader's name. 
That Land we sought ; when, wrapt in mist, arose 
Orion, help'd by every wind that blows ; 
Dispers'd us utterly on shallows cast ; 

And we, we only, gain'd your shores at last. 735 

What race of man is here ? Was ever yet 
The unnatural treatment known which we have met ? 
What country bears with customs that deny, 
To shipwreck'd men, such hospitality 


As the sands offer on the naked beach, 740 

And the first quiet of the Land they reach ? 

Arms were our greeting ; yet, if ye despise \ 

Man and his power, look onward, and be wise ; ) 

The Gods for right and wrong have awful memories. J 

A man to no one second in the care 745 

Of justice, nor in piety and war, 

Ruled over us ; if yet ^Erieas treads 

On earth, nor has been summoned to the shades, 

Fear no repentance if, in acts of grace 

Striving with him, thou gain the foremost place. 750 

Nor want we, in Trinacria, towns and plains, 

Where, sprung from Trojan blood, Acestes reigns. 

Grant leave to draw our Ships upon your Shores, 

Thence to refit their shatter 'd hulks and oars. 

Were Friends and Chief restor'd, whom now we mourn, 755 

We to the Italian Coast with joy would turn, 

Should Italy lie open to our aim ; 

But if our welfare be an empty name, 

And Thou, best Father of the Family \ 

Of Troy, hast perish'd in the Lybian Sea, > 760 

And young lulus sank, engulph'd with thee, J 

Then be it ours, at least, to cross the foam \ 

Of the Sicilian Deep, and seek the home > 

Prepar'd by good Acestes, whence we come."J 

Thus spake Ilioneus : his Friends around 765 

Declar'd their sanction by a murmuring sound. 

With downcast looks, brief answer Dido made ; 
* 'Trojans, be griefs dismiss 'd, anxieties allay 'd. 
The pressure of occasion, and a reign \ 

Yet new, exact these rigours, and constrain J 770 

The jealous vigilance my coasts maintain. J 
The JEnean Race, with that heroic Town 
And widely -blazing war to whom are they unknown ? 
Not so obtuse the Punic breasts we bear ; \ 

Nor does the Giver of the Day so far J 775 

From this our Tyrian City yoke his Car. J 
But if Hesperia be your wish'd-for bourne, 
Or to Trinacrian shores your prows would turn, 
Then, with all aids that may promote your weal, 
Ye shall depart ; but if desire ye feel, 780 

Fix'd, in this growing Realm, to share my fate, 
Yours are the walls which now I elevate. 
Haste, and withdraw your Gallies from the sea, 
Trojans and Tyrians shall be one to me. 


Would, too, that storm -compelled as ye have been, 785 

The Person of your Chief might here be seen ! 

By trusty servants shall my shores be traced 

To the last confines of the Lybian Waste, 

For He, the Castaway of stormy floods, 

May roam through cities, or in savage woods." 790 

Thus did the Queen administer relief 
For their dejected hearts ; and to the Chief, 
While both were burning with desire to break 
From out the darksome cloud, Achates spake. 
"Son of a Goddess, what resolves ensue 795 

From this deliverance whose effects we view ? 
All things are safe thy Fleet and Friends restored \ 
Save one, whom in our sight the Sea devour 'd ; > 
All else respondent to thy Mother's word." J 

He spake ; the circumambient cloud anon 800 

Melts and dissolves, the murky veil is gone ; 
And left tineas, as it pass'd away, 

With godlike mien and shoulders, standing in full day. 
For that same Parent of celestial race 

Had shed upon his hair surpassing grace ; 805 

And, breathing o'er her Son the purple light \ 
Of youth, had glorified his eyes, made bright, > 
Like those of Heaven, with joyance infinite. J 
So stood he forth, an unexpected Guest, 
And, while all wonder 'd, thus the Queen addressed. 810 

"He whom ye seek am I, ^Eneas flung 
By storms the Lybian solitudes among. 
O Sole, who for the unutterable state 
Of Troy art humanly compassionate ; 

Who not alone a shelter dost afford 815 

To the thin relics of the Grecian sword, 
Perpetually exhausted by pursuit 
Of dire mischance, of all things destitute, 
But in thy purposes with them hast shar'd 

City and home ; not we, who thus have far'd, 820 

Not we, not all the Dardan Race that live, 
Scatter'd through Earth, sufficient thanks can give. 
The Gods (if they the Pious watch with love, 
If Justice dwell about us, or above) 

And a mind conscious to itself of right, 825 

Shall, in fit measure thy deserts requite! 
What happy Age gave being to such worth ? 
What blessed Parents, Dido ! brought thee forth ? 


While down their channels Rivers seaward flow, 

While shadowy Groves sweep round the mountain's brow, 830 

While ether feeds the stars, where'er be cast ^ 

My lot, whatever Land by me be traced, > 

Thy name, thy honour, and thy praise, shall last."] 

He spake ; and turning tow'rds the Trojan Band, 

Salutes Ilioneus with the better hand, 835 

And grasps Serestus with the left then gave 

Like greeting to the rest, to Gyas brave 

And brave Cloanthes. 

Inwardly amaz'd, \ 

Sidonian Dido on the Chief had gaz'd > 

When first he met her view ; his words like wonder rais'd.j 840 
"What Force", said She, "pursues thee hath impell'd 
To these wild shores ? In Thee have I beheld 
That Trojan whom bright Venus, on the shore 
Of Phrygian Simois, to Anchisos bore ? 

And well do I recall to mind the day 845 

When to our Sidon Teucer found his way, 
An Outcast from his native Borders driven, 
With hope to win new Realms by aid from Belus given, 
Belus, my Father, then the conquering Lord 

Of Cyprus newly-ravaged by his sword. 850 

Thenceforth I knew the fate of Troy that rings 
Earth round, thy Name, and the Pelasgian kings. 
Teucer himself, with liberal tongue, would raise 
His Adversaries to just heights of praise, 

And vaunt a Trojan lineage with fair proof; 855 

Then welcome, noble Strangers, to our Roof! 
Me, too, like Fortune, after devious strife 
Stay'd in this Land, to breathe a calmer life ; 
From no light ills which on myself have press'd, 
Pitying I learn to succour the distress'd." 860 

These words pronounced, and mindful to ordain \ 
Fit sacrifice, she issues from the Fane, J 

And tow'rds the Palace leads J&neas and his Train.; 
Nor less regardful of his distant Friends, 

To the sea coast she hospitably sends 865 

Twice ten selected steers, a hundred lambs 
Swept from the plenteous herbage with their dams ; 
A hundred bristly ridges of huge swine, 
And what the God bestows in sparkling wine. 

But the interior Palace doth display 870 

Its whole magnificence in set array ; 
And in the centre of a spacious Hall 
Are preparations for high festival ; 
917.17 IV X 


There, gorgeous vestments skilfully enwrought 

With Eastern purple ; and huge tables fraught 875 

With massive argentry ; there, carv'd in gold, 

Through long, long series, the atchievements bold 

Of Forefathers, each imaged in his place, 

From the beginning of the ancient Race. 

^Eneas, whose parental thoughts obey 880 

Their natural impulse, brooking no delay, 
Despatched the prompt Achates, to report 
The new events, and lead Ascanius to the Court. 
Ascanius, for on him the Father's mind 

Now rests, as if to that sole care eonfin'd ; 885 

And bids him bring, attendant on the Boy, 
The richest Presents, snatch'd from burning Troy ; 
A Robe of tissue stiff with shapes exprest 
In threads of gleaming gold ; an upper Vest 

Round which acanthus twines its yellow flowers ; 890 

By Argive Helen worn in festal hours ; 
Her Mother Leda's wonderous gift and brought 
To Ilium from Mycenae when she sought 
Those unpermitted nuptials ; thickly set 

With golden gems, a twofold coronet; 895 

And Sceptre which Ilione of yore, \ 

Eldest of Priam's royal Daughters wore, > 

And orient Pearls, which on her neck she bore. J 
This to perform, Achates speeds his way 
To the Ships anchor'd in that peaceful Bay. 900 

But Cytherea, studious to invent 
Arts yet untried, upon new counsels bent, 
Resolves that Cupid, changed in form and face 
To young Ascanius, should assume his place ; 

Present the maddening gifts, and kindle heat 905 

Of passion at tne bosom's inmost seat. 
She dreads the treacherous House, the double tongue ; 
She burns, she frets by Juno's rancour stung; 
The calm of night is powerless to remove 
These cares, and thus she speaks to winged Love: 910 

"O Son, my strength, my power! who dost despise 
(What, save thyself, none dares through earth and skies) 
The giant -quelling bolts of Jove, I flee, 
O Son, a suppliant to thy Deity ! 

What perils meet ^Eneas in his course, 915 

How Juno's hate with unrelenting force 

907 the double] and Punic MS. 

908 By Juno's rancour is her quiet stung MS. 


Pursues thy Brother this to thee is known ; 

And oft-times hast thou made my griefs thine own. 

Him now the generous Dido by soft chains 

Of bland entreaty at her court detains ; 920 

Junonian hospitalities prepare 

Such apt occasion that I dread a snare. 

Hence, ere some hostile God can intervene, 

Would I, by previous wiles, inflame the Queen 

With passion for ^Eneas, such strong love 925 

That at my beck, mine only, she shall move. 

Hear, and assist ; the Father's mandate calls 

His young Ascanius to the Tyrian Walls ; 

He comes, my dear delight, and costliest things 

Preserv'd from fire and flood for presents brings. 930 

Him will I take, and in close covert keep, \ 

'Mid Groves Idalian, lull'd to gentle sleep, > 

Or on Cythera's far -sequestered Steep, J 

That he may neither know what hope is mine, 

Nor by his presence traverse the design. 935 

Do Thou, but for a single night's brief space, 

Dissemble ; be that Boy in form and face : 

And when onraptur'd Dido shall receive 

Thee to her arms, and kisses interweave 

With many a fond embrace, while joy runs high, 940 

And goblets crown the proud festivity, 

Instil thy subtle poison, and inspire, 

At every touch, an unsuspected fire." 

Love, at the word, before his Mother's sight 

Puts off his wings, and walks, with proud delight, 945 

Like young lulus ; but the gentlest dews 
Of slumber Venus sheds, to circumfuse 
The true Ascanius steep 'd in placid rest ; 
Then wafts him, cherish 'd on her careful breast, 
Through upper air to an Idalian glade, \ 950 

Where he on soft amaracus is laid, > 

With breathing flowers embraced, and fragrant shade, j 
But Cupid, following cheerily his Guide 
Achates, with the Gifts to Carthage hied ; 

And, as the hall he entered, there, between ^ 955 

The sharers of her golden couch, was seen } 
Reclin'd in festal pomp the Tyrian queen. J 

919-20 . . . Phoenician Dido in soft chains 

Of a seductive blandishment detains MS. 
955-7 He reach'd the Hall where now the Queen repos'd 

Amid a golden couch, with awnings half enclos'd MS. 


The Trojans too (JSneas at their head), \ 

On couches lie, with purple overspread : > 

Meantime in canisters is heap'd the bread, J 960 

Pellucid water for the hands is borne, 

And napkins of smooth texture, finely shorn. 

Within are fifty Handmaids, who prepare, 

As they in order stand, the dainty fare ; 

And fume the household Deities with store 965 

Of odorous incense ; while a hundred more 

Match'd with an equal number of like age, 

But each of manly sex, a docile Page, 

Marshal the banquet, giving with due grace 

To cup or viand its appointed place. 9?o 

The Ty r i ans rushing in, an eager Band, 

Their painted couches seek, obedient to command. 

They look with wonder on the Gifts they gaze 

Upon lulus, dazzled with the rays 

That from his ardent countenance are flung, 975 

And charm 'd to hear his simulating tongue ; 

Nor pass unprais'd the robe and veil divine, 

Round which the yellow flowers and wandering foliage twine. 

But chiefly Dido, to the coming ill 

Devoted, strives in vain her vast desires to fill ; 980 

She views the Gifts ; upon the child then turns 
Insatiable looks, and gazing burns. 
To ease a Father's cheated love he hung 
Upon JBneas, and around him clung ; 

Then seeks the Queen ; with her his arts he tries ; 985 

She fastens on the boy enamour'd eyes, 
Clasps in her arms, nor weens (O lot unblest!) 
How great a God, incumbent o'er her breast, 
Would fill it with his spirit. He, to please 

His Acidalian mother, by degrees 990 

Blots out Sichaeus, studious to remove 
The dead, by influx of a living love, 
By stealthy entrance of a perilous guest, 
Troubling a heart that had been long at rest. 

981 child] Boy MS. 982 looks] eyes MS. 

985-9 Then sought the Queen, who fix'd on him the whole 

That she possess'd of look, mind, life, and soul ; 

And sometimes doth unhappy Dido plant 

The Fondling in her bosom, ignorant 

How great a God deceives her. MS. 
991 Would sap Sichseus, studious to remove MS. 
993-4 Through a subsided spirit dispossessed 

Of amorous passion, through a torpid breast MS. 


Now when the viands were withdrawn, and ceas'd 995 

The first division of the splendid Feast, 
While round a vacant board the Chiefs recline, 
Huge goblets are brought forth ; they crown the wine ; 
Voices of gladness roll the walls around ; 

Those gladsome voices from the courts rebound; 1000 

From gilded rafters many a blazing light 
Depends, and torches overcome the night. 
The minutes fly till, at the Queen's commands, 
A bowl of state is offered to her hands : 

Then She, as Belus wont, and all the Line 1005 

From Belus, filled it to the brim with wine ; 
Silence ensued. "O Jupiter, whose care 
Is hospitable Dealing, grant my prayer ! 
Productive day be this of lasting joy 

To Tyrians, and these Exiles driven from Troy; 1010 

A day to future generations dear! \ 

Let Bacchus, donor of soul -quick 'ning cheer, > 
Be present ; kindly Juno, be thou near ! J 

And, Tyrians, may your choicest favours wait 
Upon this hour, the bond to celebrate!" 1015 

She spake and shed an Offering on the board ; 
Then sipp'd the bowl whence she the wine had pour'd 
And gave to Bitias, urging the prompt lord ; 
He rais'd the bowl, and took a long deep draught ; 
Then every Chief in turn the beverage quaff 'd. 1020 

Graced with redundant hair, lopas sings \ 
The lore of Atlas, to resounding strings, J 

The labours of the Sun, the lunar wanderings ; J 
Whence human kind, and brute ; what natural powers 
Engender lightning, whence are falling showers. 1025 

He chaunts Arcturus, that fraternal twain 
The glittering Bears, the Pleiads fraught with rain ; 
Why suns in winter, shunning Heaven's steep heights 
Post seaward, what impedes the tardy nights. 
The learned song from Tyrian hearers draws 1030 

Loud shouts, the Trojans echo the applause. 
But, lengthening out the night with converse new, 
Large draughts of love unhappy Dido drew ; 

1003 as the Queen commands MS. 

1018 . . . bidding him take heart; 

He rais'd and not unequal to the part, 

Drank deep self-drench'd from out the brimming gold 

Thereafter a like course the encircling Nobles hold. MS. 

1026 that fraternal] and that social MS. 1027 fraught] charged MS. 


Of Priam ask'd, of Hector, o'er and o'er 

What arms the son of bright Aurora wore ; 1035 

What steeds the car of Diomed could boast ; 

Among the Leaders of the Grecian host 

How looked Achilles their dread Paramount 

"But nay the fatal wiles, O guest, recount, 

Retrace the Grecian cunning from its source, 1040 

Your own grief and your Friends' your wandering course ; 

For now, till this seventh summer have ye ranged 

The sea, or trod the earth, to peace estranged." 


ALL breathed in silence, and intensely gaz'd, 
When from the lofty couch his voice ^Eneas rais'd, 
And thus began: "The task which you impose 

Queen, revives unutterable woes ; 

How by the Grecians Troy was overturned, 5 

And her power fell to be for ever mourn'd ; 
Calamities which with a pitying heart 

1 saw, of which I form'd no common part. 
Oh ! 'twas a miserable end ! What One 

Of all our Foes, Dolopian, Myrmidon, 10 

Or Soldier bred in stern Ulysses' train 

Such things could utter, and from tears refrain ? 

And hastens now from Heaven the dewy night, 

And the declining stars to sleep invite. 

But since such strong desire prevails to know 15 

Our wretched fate, and Troy's last overthrow 

I will attempt the theme though in my breast 

Memory recoils and shudders at the test. 

The Grecian Chiefs, exhausted of their strength 

By war protracted to such irksome length, 20 

And, from the siege repuls'd, new schemes devise ; 
A wooden horse they build of mountain size. 
Assisted by Minerva's art divine, 
They frame the work, and sheathe its ribs with pine, 
An offering to the Gods that they may gain 25 

Their home in safety ; this they boldly feign, 

1036-9 What coursers those of Diomed; how great, 

Achilles but O Guest ! the whole relate ; MS. 
1041 griefs MS. 
17-18 I will begin with spirit resolute 

To stifle pangs which well might keep me mute C. W. 


And spread the Tale abroad ; meanwhile they hide 

Selected Warriors in its gloomy side ; 

Throng the huge concave to its utmost den, 

And fill that mighty Womb with armed Men. 30 

In sight of Troy, an Island lies, by Fame 
Amply distinguished, Tenedos its name ; 
Potent and rich while Priam's sway endured, 
Now a bare hold for keels, unsafely moor'd. 

Here did the Greeks, when for their native land 35 

We thought them sail'd, lurk on the desart strand. 
From her long grief at once the Realm of Troy 
Broke loose ; the gates are opened, and with joy 
We seek the Dorian Camp, and wander o'er 

The spots forsaken, the abandoned shore. 40 

Here, the Dolopian ground its line presents ; 
And here the dread Achilles pitch 'd his tents ; 
There lay the Ships drawn up along the coast, 
And here we oft encounter'd host with host. 

Meanwhile, the rest an eye of wonder lift, 45 

Unwedded Pallas ! on the fatal Gift 
To thee devoted. First Thymcetes calls 
For its free ingress through disparted walls 
To lodge within the Citadel thus He 

Treacherous, or such the course of destiny. 50 

Capys, with some of wiser mind, would sweep 
The insidious Grecian offering to the Deep, 
Or to the flames subject it ; or advise 
To perforate and search the cavities ; 

Into conflicting judgments break and split 55 

The crowd, as random thoughts the fancy hit. 

Down from the Citadel a numerous throng 
Hastes with Laocoon ; they sweep along, 
And He, the foremost, crying from afar, 

What would ye ? wretched Maniacs, as ye are ! 60 

Think ye the Foe departed ? Or that e'er 
A boon from Grecian hands can prove sincere ? 
Thus do ye read Ulysses ? Foes unseen 
Lurk in these chambers ; or the huge Machine 

Against the ramparts brought, by pouring down 65 

Force from aloft, will seize upon the Town. 

28 By stealth, choice warriors etc. C. W. 
33-4 Potent and rich, in time of Priam's sway, 

A faithless Shiproad now, a lonely bay C. W. 
56-6 This way and that the multitude divide 

And still unsettled veer from side to side. 0. W. 


Let not a fair pretence your minds enthrall ; 

For me, I fear the Greeks and most of all 

When they are offering gifts." With mighty force 

This said, he hurl'd a spear against the Horse ; 70 

It smote the curved ribs, and quivering stood 

While groans made answer through the hollow wood. 

We too, upon this impulse, had not Fate \ 

Been adverse, and our minds infatuate, > 

We too, had rush'd the den to penetrate,; 75 

Streams of Argolic blood our swords had stained, 

Troy, thou might'st yet have stood, and Priam's Towers remained. 

But lo ! an unknown youth with hand to hand 
Bound fast behind him, whom a boisterous Band 
Of Dardan Swains with clamour hurrying 80 

Force to the shore and place before the King. 
Such his device when he those chains had sought 
A voluntary captive, fix'd in thought 
Either the City to betray, or meet 

Death, the sure penalty of foil'd deceit. 85 

The curious Trojans, pouring in, deride 
And taunt the Prisoner, with an emulous pride. 
Now see the cunning of the Greeks exprest 
By guilt of One, true image of the rest ! 

For, whilo with helpless looks, from side to side 90 

Anxiously cast, the Phrygian throng he ey'd, 
"Alas! what Land," he cries, "can now, what Sea, 
Can offer refuge ? what resource for me ? 
Who mid the Greeks no breathing -place can find, 
And whom ye, Trojans, have to death consigned!" 95 

Thus were we wrought upon ; and now, with sense 
Of pity touch'd, that check'd all violence, 
We cheer J d and urged him boldly to declare 
His origin, what tidings he may bear, 

And on what claims he ventures to confide ; i oo 

Then, somewhat eas'd of fear, he thus replied : 

"O King, a plain confession shall ensue 
On these commands, in all things plain and true. 
And first, the tongue that speaks shall not deny 
My origin ; a Greek by birth am I. 105 

67-70 Trojans! mistrust the Horse: whatever it be, 

Though offering gifts, the Greeks are Greeks to me." 

This said, Laocoon hurPd with mighty force 

A ponderous spear against the monster horse C. W. 

73-82 Pasted over the MS., in D. W.'# land, corrected by C. W. 

99 His birth, his fortunes, what his tidings are C. W. 


Fortune made Sinon wretched ; to do more, 

And make him false, that lies not in her power. 

In converse, haply, ye have heard the name 

Of Palamedes, and his glorious fame ; 

A Chief with treason falsely charg'd, and whom \ no 

The Achaians crush 'd by a nefarious doom, > 

And now lament when cover 'd with the tomb. J 

His kinsman I ; and hither by his side 

Me my poor Father sent, when first these fields were tried. 

While yet his voice the Grecian Chieftains sway'd 115 

And due respect was to his counsel paid, 

Ere that high influence was with life cut short, 

I did not walk ungraced by fair report. 

Ulysses, envy rankling in his breast, 

(And these are things which thousands can attest) 120 

Thereafter tura'd his subtlety to give 

That fatal injury, and he ceas'd to live. 

I dragg'd my days in sorrow and in gloom, 

And mourn 'd my guiltless Friend, indignant at his doom ; 

This inwardly ; and yet not always mute, 125 

Rashly I vow'd revenge my sure pursuit, 

If e'er the shores of Argos I again 

Should see, victorious with my Countrymen. 

Sharp hatred did these open threats excite ; 

Hence the first breathings of a deadly blight ; 130 

Hence, to appal me, accusations came, 

Which still Ulysses was at work to frame ; 

Hence would he scatter daily 'mid the crowd 

Loose hints, at will sustain 'd or disavow'd, 

Beyond himself for instruments he look'd, 135 

And in this search for means no respite brook 'd 

Till Calchas his accomplice but the chain 

Of foul devices why untwist in vain ? 

Why should I linger ? if ye Trojans place 

On the same level all of Argive race, 140 

And 'tis enough to know that I am one, 

Punish me ; would Ulysses might look on ! 

And let the Atridae hear, rejoiced with what is done!" 

110 A guiltless Chief, for this condemn'd to die, 

That he dissuaded war could that be treachery ? C. W. 
119-22 But when Ulysses (thousands can attest 

This truth) with envy rankling in his breast ; 
Had compassed what he blushed not to contrive 
And hapless Palamedes ceas'd to live. C. W. 
129 Nor fail'd these threats sharp hatred to excite C. W. 
142-3 Punish me promptly! Ithacus, that done, 

Would be rejoic'd, the brother Kings to buy 

That service, would esteem no price too high. C. W. 


This stirr'd us more, whose judgments were asleep 
To all suspicion of a crime so deep 145 

And craft so fine. Our questions we renew'd ; 
And, trembling, thus the fiction he pursued. 

"Oft did the Grecian Host the means prepare 
To flee from Troy, tired with so long a war ; 

Would they had fled! but winds as often stopp'd 150 

Their going, and the twisted sails were dropp'd; 
And when this pine-ribb'd Horse of monstrous size \ 
Stood forth, a finish'd Work, before their eyes, 1 

Then chiefly peal'd the storm through blacken 'd skies. J 
So that the Oracle its aid might lend 155 

To quell our doubts, Eurypylus we send, 
Who brought the answer of the voice divine 
In these sad words given from the Delphic shrine. 
'Blood flow'd, a Virgin perish 'd to appease 

The winds, when first for Troy ye pass'd the seas; 160 

O Grecians ! for return across the Flood, 
Life must be paid, a sacrifice of blood.' 
With this response an universal dread 
Among the shuddering multitude was spread ; 

All quak'd to think at whom the Fates had aim'd 165 

This sentence, who the Victim Phoebus claim'd. 
Then doth the Ithacan with tumult loud 
Bring forth the Prophet Calchas to the crowd ; 
Asks what the Gods would have ; and some, meanwhile, 
Discern what end the Mover of the guile 1 70 

Is compassing ; and do not hide from me 
The crime which they in mute reserve foresee. 
Ten days refus'd he still with guarded breath 
To designate the Man, to fix the death ; 

The Ithacan still urgent for the deed; 175 

At last the unwilling voice announced that I must bleed. 
All gave assent, each happy to be clear'd, 
By one Man's fall, of what himself had fear'd. 
Now came the accursed day ; the salted cates 

Are spread, the Altar for the Victim waits ; 180 

The fillets bind my temples I took flight 
Bursting my chains, I own, and through the night 

156 To fix our wavering minds, C. W. 

165 to think] in doubt C. W. 170-1 what crime ... Is bent upon C. W. 
172 crime which] issue, C. W. 176 the accomplice Seer C. W. 

177-8 Assenting all with joyful transfer laid 

What each himself had fear'd upon one wretched head. C. W. 


Lurk'd among oozy swamps, and there lay hid 

Till winds might cease their voyage to forbid. 

And now was I compell'd at once to part 185 

With all the dear old longings of the heart, 

Never to see my Country, Children, Sire, 

Whom they, perchance, will for this flight require 

For this offence of mine of them will make 

An expiation, punish 'd for my sake. 190 

But Thee, by all the Powers who hold their seat 

In Heaven, and know the truth, do I entreat 

O King ! and by whate'er may yet remain 

Among mankind of faith without a stain, 

Have pity on my woes ; commiserate 195 

A mind that ne'er deserved this wretched fate.'* 

His tears prevail, we spare the Suppliant's life 
Pitying the man we spare, without a strife ; 
Even Priam's self, He first of all commands 

To loose the fetters and unbind his hands, 200 

Then adds these friendly words ; "Whoe'er thou be 
Henceforth forget the Grecians, lost to thee ; 
We claim thee now, and let me truly hear 
Who mov'd them first this monstrous Horse to rear ? 
And why ? Was some religious vow the aim ? 205 

Or for what use in war the Engine might they frame ? 
Straight were these artful words in answer given 
While he uprais'd his hands, now free, to Heaven. 

* 'Eternal Fires, on you I call; O Ye! 

And your inviolable Deity! 210 

Altars, and ruthless swords from which I fled ! 
Ye fillets, worn round my devoted head! 
Be it no crime if Argive sanctions cease 
To awe me, none to hate the men of Greece ! 

The law of Country forfeiting its hold, 215 

Mine be the voice their secrets to unfold ! 
And ye, O Trojans ! keep the word ye gave ; 
Save me, if truth I speak, and Ilium save ! 

The Grecian Host on Pallas still relied ; 
Nor hope had they but what her aid supplied ; 220 

197-8 We grant to tears, thus seconding his pray'r, 
His life, and freely pity whom we spare C. W. 

204-6 Why, and by whom instructed did they rear 
This huge unwieldy fabric ? was the aim 
Religion, or for war some engine did they frame ? C. W. 


But all things droop 'd since that ill -omen 'd time 

In which Ulysses, Author of the crime, 

Was leagued with impious Diomed, to seize 

That Image pregnant with your destinies ; 

Tore the Palladium from the Holy Fane, 225 

The Guards who watch'd the Citadel first slain. 

And, fearing not the Goddess, touch'd the Bands 

Wreathed round her virgin brow, with gory hands. 

Hope ebb'd, strength fail'd the Grecians since that day, 

From them the Goddess turn'd her mind away. 230 

This by no doubtful signs Tritonia shew'd, 

The uplifted eyes with flames coruscant glow'd, 

Soon as they plac'd her Image in the Camp ; 

And trickPd o'er its limbs a briny damp ; 

And from the ground, the Goddess (strange to hear!) 235 

Leapt thrice, with buckler grasp 'd, and quivering spear. 

Then Calchas bade to stretch the homeward sail, 

And prophesied that Grecian Arms would fail, 

Unless we for new omens should repair 

To Argos, thither the Palladium bear ; 240 

And thence to Phrygian Shores recross the Sea, 

Fraught with a more propitious Deity. 

They went ; but only to return in power 

With favouring Gods, at some unlook'd-for hour. 

So Calchas read those signs ; the Horse was built 245 

To soothe Minerva, and atone for guilt. 

Compact in strength you see the Fabric rise, 

A pile stupendous, towering to the skies ! 

This was ordain'd by Calchas, with intent 

That the vast bulk its ingress might prevent, 250 

And Hium ne'er within her Walls enfold 

Another Safeguard reverenced like the old. 

For if, unaw'd by Pallas, ye should lift 

A sacrilegious hand against the Gift, 

The Phrygian Realm shall perish (May the Gods 255 

Turn on himself the mischief he forebodes ! ) 

But if your Town it enter by your aid 

Ascending Asia, then, in arms array'd 

Shall storm the walls of Pelops, and a fate 

As dire on our posterity await." 260 

Even so the arts of perjur'd Sinon gain'd 
Belief for this, and all that he had feign'd ; 
Thus were they won by wiles, by tears compell'd 

226-6 They, when the warders of the fort were slain, Tore etc. C. W. 
230 Incens'd the Goddess turn'd her face away C. W. 


Whom not Tydides, not Achilles quell'd ; 

Who fronted ten years' war with safe disdain, 265 

'Gainst whom a thousand Ships had tried their strength in vain. 

To speed our fate, a thing did now appear 
Yet more momentous, and of instant fear. 
Laocoon, Priest by lot to Neptune, stood 

Where to his hand a Bull pour'd forth its blood, 270 

Before the Altar, in high offering slain ; 
But lo ! two Serpents, o'er the tranquil Main 
Incumbent, roll from Tenedos, and seek 
Our Coast together (shuddering do I speak); 

Between the waves, their elevated breasts, 275 

Upheav'd in circling spires, and sanguine crests, 
Tower o'er the flood ; the parts that follow, sweep 
In folds voluminous and vast, the Deep. 
The agitated brine, with noisy roar 

Attends their coming, till they touch the shore ; 280 

Sparkle their eyes suffus'd with blood, and quick 
The tongues shot forth their hissing mouths to lick. 
Dispers'd with fear we fly ; in close array \ 

These move, and tow'rds Laocoon point their way, > 
But first assault his Sons, their youthful prey. J 285 

A several Snake in tortuous wreaths engrasps 
Each slender frame ; and fanging what it clasps 
Feeds on the limbs ; the Father rushes on, 
Arms in his hand, for rescue ; but anon 

Himself they seize ; and, coiling round his waist 290 

Their scaly backs, they bind him, twice embrac'd 
With monstrous spires, as with a double zone ; \ 

And, twice around his neck in tangles thrown, > 

High o'er the Father's head each Serpent lifts its own. J 
His priestly fillets then are sprinkled o'er 295 

With sable venom and distain'd with gore ; 
And while his labouring hands the knots would rend 
The cries he utters to the Heavens ascend ; 
Loud as a Bull that, wounded by the axe 

Shook off the uncertain steel, and from the altar breaks, 300 

To fill with bellowing voice the depths of air ! 
But tow'rds the Temple slid the Hydra Pair, 
Their work accomplished, and there lie conceal'd, 
Couched at Minerva's feet, beneath her orbed Shield. 
Nor was there One who trembled not with fear, 305 

Or deem'd the expiation too severe, 
295 Lo ! while his priestly wreaths are C. W. 
297-8 He strives with ... to rend 

And utters cries that . . . C. W. 


For him whose lance had pierc'd the votive Steed, 

Which to the Temple they resolve to lead ; 

There to be lodg'd with pomp of service high 

And supplication, such the general cry. 310 

Shattering the Walls, a spacious breach we make, 
We cleave the bulwarks toil which all partake, 
Some to the feet the rolling wheels apply, 
Some round the lofty neck the cables tye ; 

The Engine, pregnant with our deadly foes, 315 

Mounts to the breach ; and ever, as it goes, 
Boys, mix'd with Maidens, chaunt a holy song \ 

And press to touch the cords, a happy throng. | 

The Town it enters thus, and threatening moves along. J 

My Country, glorious Ilium! and ye Towers, 320 

Lov'd habitation of celestial Powers ! 
Four times it halted mid the gates, a din 
Of armour four times warn'd us from within ; 
Yet tow'rds the sacred Dome with reckless mind \ 
We still press on, and in the place assign 'd | 325 

Lodge the portentous Gift, through frenzy blind. J 

Nor fail'd Cassandra now to scatter wide 
Words that of instant ruin prophesied. 
But Phoebus will'd that none should heed her voice, 
And we, we miserable men, rejoice, 330 

And hang our Temples round with festal boughs, 
Upon that day, the last that Fate allows. 

Meanwhile had Heaven revolv'd with rapid flight, 
And fast from Ocean climbs the punctual Night, 
With boundless shade involving earth and sky 335 

And Myrmidonian frauds ; the Trojans lie 
Scatter'd throughout the weary Town, and keep 
Unbroken quiet in the embrace of sleep. 

This was the time when, furnish'd and array'd, 

Nor wanting silent moonlight's friendly aid, 340 

From Tenedos the Grecian Navy came, 
Led by the royal Galley's signal flame, 
And Sinon now, our hostile fates his guard, 
By stealth the dungeon of the Greeks unbarr'd. 

Straight, by a pendant rope adown the side 345 

Of the steep Horse, the armed Warriors glide. 
The Chiefs Thersander, Sthenelus are there, 
With joy deliver'd to the open air ; 


Ulysses, Thoas, Achamas the cord 

Lets down to earth and Helen's injur'd Lord, 350 

Pyrrhus, who from Pelides drew his birth, 

And bold Machaon, first to issue forth, 

Nor him forget whose skill had fram'd the Pile 

Epeus, glorying in his prosperous wile. 

They rush upon the City that lay still, 355 

Buried in sleep and wine ; the Warders kill ; 

And at the wide -spread Gates in triumph greet 

Expectant Comrades crowding from the Fleet. 

It was the earliest hour of slumbrous rest, 

Gift of the Gods to Man with toil opprest, 360 

When, present to my dream, did Hector rise 
And stood before me with fast -streaming eyes; 
Such as he was when horse had striven with horse, 
Whirling along the plain his lifeless Corse, 

The thongs that bound him to the Chariot thrust 365 

Through his swoln feet, and black with gory dust, 
A spectacle how pitiably sad! 
How chang'd from that returning Hector, clad 
In glorious spoils, Achilles' own attire! 

From Hector hurling shipward the red Phrygian fire! 370 

A squalid beard, hair clotted thick with gore, 
And that same throng of patriot wounds he bore, 
In front of Troy receiv'd ; and now, methought, \ 
That I myself was to a passion wrought J 

Of tears, which to my voice this greeting brought. ) 375 

"O Light of Dardan Realms! most faithful Stay 
To Trojan courage, why these lingerings of delay ? 
Where hast thou tarried, Hector ? From what coast 
Com'st thou, long wish'd-for ? That so many lost 
Thy kinsmen or thy friends, such travail borne 380 

By this afflicted City we outworn 
Behold thee. Why this undeserv'd disgrace ? 
Who thus defil'd with wounds that honoured face ?" 
He nought to this unwilling to detain 

369-61 It was the earliest hour when sweet repose, 
Gift of the Gods, creeps softly on, to close 
The eyes of weary mortals. Then arose 
Hector, or to my dream appear 'd to rise C. W. 
379 Com'st thou, long-look'd for. After thousands lost C. W. 
381-3 By desolated Troy, how tired and worn 

Are we who thus behold thee ! how forlorn ! 
These gashes whence ? this uadeserv'd disgrace ? 
Who thus defiled that calm majestic face ? C. W. 


One, who had ask'd vain things, with answer vain ; 385 

But, groaning deep, "Flee, Goddess -born," he said, 

"Snatch thyself from these flames around thee spread ; 

Our Enemy is master of the Walls ; 

Down from her elevation Ilium falls. 

Enough for Priam; the long strife is o'er, 390 

Nor doth our Country ask one effort more. 

Could Pergamus have been defended hence, 

Even from this hand, had issued her defence ; 

Troy her Penates doth to thee commend, 

Her sacred stores, let these thy fates attend ! 395 

Sail under their protection for the Land 

Where mighty Realms shall grow at thy command !" 

No more was utter'd, but his hand he stretch 'd, 

And from the inmost Sanctuary fetch'd 

The consecrated wreaths, the potency 400 

Of Vesta, and the fires that may not die. 

Meantime, wild tumult through the streets is pour'd, 
And though apart, and mid thick trees embower 'd, 
My Father's mansion stood, the loud alarms 

Came pressing thither, and the clash of Arms. 405 

Sleep fled ; I climb the roof and where it rears 
Its loftiest summit, stand with quicken'd ears. 
So, when a fire by raging south winds borne 
Lights on a billowy sea of ripen'd corn, 

Or rapid torrent sweeps with mountain flood 410 

The fields, the harvest prostrates, headlong bears the wood ; 
High on a rock, the unweeting Shepherd, bound, 
In blank amazement, listens to the sound. 
Then was apparent to whom faith was due, 

And Grecian plots lie bare to open view. 415 

Above the spacious palace where abode 
Deiphobus, the flames in triumph rode ; 
Ucalegon burns next ; through lurid air 
Sigean Friths reflect a widening glare. 

Clamor and clangor to the heavens arise, 420 

The blast of trumpets mix'd with vocal cries ; 
Arms do I snatch weak reason scarcely knows 
What aid they promise, but my spirit glows ; 
I burn to gather Friends, whose firm array 
On to the Citadel shall force its way. 425 

395 stores] rites C. W. 

396-7 Far sailing, seek for these the fated land 

Where mighty walls at length shall rise at thy command C. W. 
402 Now wailings wild from street to street are pour'd C. W. 


Precipitation works with desperate charms ; 
It seems a lovely thing to die in arms. 

Lo Pantheus ! fugitive from Grecian spears, 
Apollo's Priest ; his vanquished Gods he bears ; 
The other hand his little Grandson leads, 430 

While from the Sovereign Fort, he tow'rd my threshold speeds. 
"Pantheus, what hope ? Which Fortress shall we try ? 
Where plant resistance ?" He in prompt reply 
Said, deeply mov'd, " 'Tis come the final hour; 
The inevitable close of Dardan power 435 

Hath come: we have been Trojans, Ilium was, 
And the great name of Troy ; now all things pass 
To Argos ; so wills angry Jupiter : 
Within the burning Town the Grecians domineer. 
Forth from its central stand the enormous Horse 440 

Pours in continual stream an armed Force ; 
Sinon, insulting victor, aggravates 
The flames ; and thousands hurry through the Gates, 
Throng'd, as might seem, with press of all the Hosts 
That e'er Mycenae sent to Phrygian Coasts. 445 

Others with spears in serried files blockade 
The passes ; hangs, with quivering point, the blade 
Unsheath'd for slaughter, scarcely to the foes 
A blind and baffled fight the Warders can oppose." 

Urg'd by these words, and as the Gods inspire, 450 

I rush into the battle and the fire, 
Whore sad Erinnys, where the shock of fight, 
The roar, the tumult, and the groans invite ; 
Rypheus is with me, Epytus, the pride \ 

Of battles, joins his aid, and to my side > 455 

Flock Dymas, Hypanis, the moon their guide ; J 
With young Coroebus, who had lately sought 
Our walls, by passion for Cassandra brought ; 
He led to Priam an auxiliar train, \ 

His Son by wedlock, miserable Man > 460 

For whom a raving Spouse had prophesied in vain. J 

When these I saw collected, and intent 
To face the strife with deeds of hardiment, 
I thus began: "O Champions, vainly brave 
If, like myself, to dare extremes ye crave, 465 

467-9 Nor last the young Coroebus, he who fed 
A senseless passion, whom desire to wed 
Cassandra, in those days to Troy had led, 
He fought, the hopes of Priam to sustain C. W. 

917.17 J* Y 


You see our lost condition, not a God, \ 

Of all the Powers by whom this Empire stood, J 

But hath renounced his Altar fled from his abode. J 

Ye would uphold a City wrapp'd in fire ; 

Die rather ; let us rush, in battle to expire. 47o 

At least one safety shall the vanquish'd have 

If they no safety seek but in the grave." 

Thus to their minds was fury added, then, 

Like wolves driven forth by hunger from the den, 

To prowl amid blind vapours, whom the brood 475 

Expect, their jaws all parch'd with thirst for blood, 

Through flying darts, through pressure of the Foe, 

To death, to not uncertain death, we go. 

Right through the Town our midway course we bear, 

Aided by hovering darkness, strengthen'd by despair, 480 

Can words the havoc of that night express ? 

What power of tears may equal the distress ? 

An ancient City sinks to disappear ; 

She sinks who rul'd for ages, Far and near 

The Unresisting through the streets, the abodes 485 

Of Men and hallow'd Temples of the Gods, 

Are fell'd by massacre that takes no heed ; 

Nor are the Trojans only doom'd to bleed ; 

The Vanquish'd sometimes to their hearts recall 

Old virtues, and the conquering Argives fall. 490 

Sorrow is everywhere and fiery skaith, \ 

Fear, Anguish struggling to be rid of breath, J 

And Death still crowding on the shape of Death. J 

Androgeus, whom a numerous Force attends, 

Was the first Greek we met ; he rashly deems us Friends. 495 

"What sloth," he cries, "retards you ? Warriors haste! 
Troy blazes, sack'd by others, and laid waste ; 
And ye come lagging from your Ships the last!" 
Thus he ; and straight mistrusting our replies, 

He felt himself begirt with enemies ; 500 

Voice fail'd step faulter'd, at the dire mistake^ 
Like one who through a deeply tangl'd brake 1 
Struggling, hath trod upon a lurking Snake, J 

4712 For safety hoping not; the vanquish'd have 

The best of safety, in a noble grave. C. W. 

Could but the vanquished beat out of their mind 

All hope of safety, safety they might find MS. 101 
486-7 Multitudes, passive creatures, through streets, roads, 

Houses of men, and thresholds of the Gods 

By ruthless massacre are prostrated C. W. 

492-3 Fear . . . breath, Are everywhere: about, above, beneath, Is 
Death etc. C.W. 


Arid shrunk in terror from the unlook'd-for Pest 

Lifting his blue-swoln neck and wrathful crest. 505 

Even so Androgeus, smit with sudden dread, 

Recoils from what he saw, and would have fled, 

Forward we rush, with arms the Troop surround, 

The Men, surpriz'd and ignorant of the ground, 

Subdued by fear, become an easy prey ; 510 

So are we favor'd in our first essay. 

With exultation here Coroebus cries, 
"Behold, O Friends, how bright our destinies! 
Advance ; the road which they point out is plain ; 
Shields let us change, and bear the insignia of the Slain, 515 

Grecians in semblance ; wiles are lawful who 
To simple valour would restrict a foe ? 
Themselves shall give us Arms." When this was said 
The Leader's helmet nods upon his head, 

The emblazon'd buckler on his arm is tied, 520 

He fits an Argive falchion to his side. 
The like doth Ripheus, Dymas, all put on, 
With eager haste, the spoils which they had won. 
Then in the combat mingling, Heaven averse, 

Amid the gloom a multitude we pierce, 525 

And to the shades dismiss them. Others flee, 
Appall'd by this imagined treachery ; 
Some to the Ships some in the Horse would hide. \ 

Ah ! what reap they but sorrow who confide J 

In aught to which the Gods their sanction have denied ? J 530 

Behold Cassandra, Priam's royal Child, 
By sacrilegeous men, with hair all wild, 
Dragg'd from Minerva's Temple ! Tow'rd the skies 
The Virgin lifts in vain her glowing eyes, 

Her eyes, she could 110 more, for Grecian bands 535 

Had rudely manacled her tender hands* 
The intolerable sight to madness stung \ 
Coroebus ; and his desperate self he flung > 
For speedy death the ruthless Foe among! j 

We follow, and with general shock assail 540 

The hostile Throng : here first our efforts fail : 
While, from the summit of the lofty Fane 
Darts, by the People flung, descend amain ; 
In miserable heaps their Friends are laid, 
By shew of Grecian Arms and Crests betray'd. 545 

510 fear, become] terror, fall C. W. 


Wroth for the Virgin rescu'd, by defeat 

Provok'd, the Grecians from all quarters meet. 

With Ajax combat there the Brother Kings ; 

And the Dolopian Squadron thither brings 

Its utmost rage. Thus Winds break forth and fly 550 

To conflict from all regions of the sky ; 

Notus and Zephyrus, while Eurus feeds 

The strife, exulting in his orient steeds ; 

Woods roar, and foaming Nereus stirs the waves 

Rouz'd by his trident from their lowest caves. 555 

They also whomsoe'er through shades of night 

Our stratagem had driven to scattered flight 

Now reappear by them our Shields are known ; \ 

The simulating Javelins they disown, > 

And mark our utterance of discordant tone. J 560 

Numbers On numbers bear us down ; and first 

Coroebus falls ; him Peneleus hath pierc'd 

Before Minerva's Altar ; next, in dust 

Sinks Rhypeus, one above all Trojans just, 

And righteous above all ; but heavenly Powers 565 

Ordain by lights that ill agree with ours. 

Then Dymas, Hypanis are slain by Friends ; 

Nor thee abundant piety defends, 

Pantheus ! falling with the garland wound, 

As fits Apollo's Priest, thy brows around. 570 

Ashes of Ilium ! and ye duteous fires, 
Lit for my Friends upon their funeral pyres ; 
Amid your fall bear witness to my word I 

1 shunn'd no hazards of the Grecian sword, 

No turns of war ; with hand unsparing fought ; 575 

And earn'd, had Fate so will'd, the death I sought, 

Thence am I hurried by the rolling tide, 

With Iphitus and Pelias at my side ; 

One bow'd with years ; and Pelias, from a wound 

Given by Ulysses, halts along the ground. 580 

New clamours rise ; The Abode of Priam calls, 

Besieged by thousands swarming round the walls ; 

Concourse how thick ! as if, throughout the space 

Of the whole City, war in other place 

548-50 The brother Kings and Ajax that way bend 

Their efforts ; the Dolopian squadron spend 

Their fury there. C. W. 

563 Falls bold Coroebus by Peneleus pierc'd C. W. 
566 Judge by a light that ill agrees C. W. 


Were hush'd no death elsewhere. The Assailants wield 585 

Above their heads shield, shell -wise lock'd in shield ; 

Climb step by step the ladders, near the side 

Of the strong portal daringly applied ; 

The weaker hand its guardian shield presents ; 

The right is stretch'd to grasp the battlements. 590 

The Dardans tug at roof and turrets high, \ 

Rend fragments off, and with these weapons try 1 

Life to preserve in such extremity, J 

Roll down the massy rafters deck'd with gold, 

Magnific splendours rais'd -by Kings of old ; 595 

Others with naked weapons stand prepared 

In thick array, the doors below to guard. 

A bolder hope inspirits me to lend 
My utmost aid the Palace to defend, 

And strengthen those afflicted. From behind, \ 600 

A gateway open'd, whence, a passage blind ) 
The various Mansions of the Palace join'd. J 
Unblest Andromache, while Priam reign'd 
Oft by this way the royal Palace gain'd, 

A lonely Visitant ; this way would tread 605 

With young Astyanax, to his Grandsire led. 
Entering the gate, I reach'd the roof, where stand 
The Trojans, hurling darts with ineffectual hand. 
A Tower there was ; precipitous the site, 

And the Pile rose to an unrivall'd height ; 610 

Frequented Station, whence, in circuit wide 
Troy might be seen, the Argive Fleet descried, 
And all the Achaian Camp. This sovereign Tower 
With irons grappling where the loftiest floor 

Press'd with its beams the wall we shake, we rend, 615 

And, in a mass of thundering ruin, send 
To crush the Greeks beneath. But numbers press 
To new assault with reckless eagerness: 
Weapons and missiles from the ruins grow, 
And what their hasty hands can seize they throw ! 620 

In front stands Pyrrhus, glorying in the might \ 
Of his own weapons, while his armour bright 1 

Casts from the portal gleams of brazen light, J 
So shines a Snake, when kindling, he hath crept 
Forth from the winter bed in which he slept, 625 

Swoln with a glut of poisonous herbs, but now 

600 And succour there the vanquished. C. W. 

605 All unattended oft this way would tread C. W, 


Fresh from the shedding of his annual slough, 

Glittering in youth, warm with instinctive fires, \ 

He, with rais'd breast, involves his back in gyres, > 

Darts with his forked tongue, and tow'rd the sun aspires. ) 630 

Join'd with redoubted Periphas, comes on 

To storm the Palace fierce Automedon, 

Who drove the Achillean Car; the Bands 

Of Scyros follow hurling fiery brands. 

Pyrrhus himself hath seiz'd an axe, would cleave 635 

The ponderous doors, or from their hinges heave ; 

And now, reiterating stroke on stroke 

Hath hewn, through plates of brass and solid oak, 

A broad -mouth'd entrance ; to their inmost seats 

The long-drawn courts lie open ; the retreats 640 

Of Priam and ancestral Kings are bar'd \ 

To instantaneous view ; and Lo ! the Guard | 

Stands at the threshold, for defence prepared. J 

But tumult spreads through all the space within ; 
The vaulted roofs repeat the mournful din 645 

Of female Ululation, a strange vent 
Of agony, that strikes the starry firmament ! 
The Matrons range with wildering step the floors ; 
Embrace, and print their kisses on, the doors. 

Pyrrhus, with all his father's might, dispels 650 

Barriers and bolts, and living obstacles ; 
Force shapes her own clear way ; the doors are thrown 
Off from their hinges ; gates are batter'd down 
By the onrushing Soldiery, who kill 

Whom first they meet, and the broad area fill. 655 

Less irresistibly, o'er dams and mounds, \ 

Burst by its rage, a foaming River bounds, > 

Herds sweeping with their stalls along the ravag'd grounds. J 
Pyrrhus I saw with slaughter desperate ; 

The two Atridae near the Palace gate 660 

Did I behold ; and by these eyes were seen 
The hundred Daughters with the Mother Queen, 
And hoary -headed Priam, where he stood 
Beside the Altar, staining with his blood 

Fires which himself had hallow'd. Hope had he 665 

Erewhile, none equal hope, of large posterity. 
There, fifty bridal chambers might be told 

635-6 ... a halberd, cleaves . . . heaves C. W. 
652-4 the doors have flown . . . overthrown 

By shock of horned engines batter'd down. 

In rush the Grecian soldiery ; they kill C. W. 


Superb with trophies and barbaric gold, 

All, in their pomp, lie level with the ground, 

And where the fire is not, are Grecian Masters found. 670 

Ask ye the fate of Priam ? On that night 
When captur'd Ilium blaz'd before his sight, 
And the Foe, bursting through the Palace gate 
Spread through the privacies of royal state, 

In vain to tremulous shoulders he restor'd \ 675 

Arms which had long forgot their ancient Lord, > 
And girt upon his side a useless sword ; J 

Then, thus accoutred, forward did he hie, 
As if to meet the Enemy and die. 

Amid the Courts, an Altar stood in view 680 

Of the wide heavens, near which a long-lived Laurel grew, 
And, bending over this great Altar, made 
For its Penates an embracing shade. 
With all her Daughters, throng 'd like Doves that lie 
Cowering, when storms have driven them from the sky, 685 

Hecuba shelters in that sacred place 
Where they the Statues of the Gods embrace. 
But when she saw in youthful Arms array'd 
Priam himself; "What ominous thought," she said, 
"Hangs, wretched Spouse, this weight on limbs decay 'd ? 690 

And whither would'st thou hasten ? If we were 
More helpless still, this succour we might spare. 
Not such Defenders doth the time demand ; 
Profitless here would be even Hector's hand. 

Retire ; this Altar can protect us all, 695 

Or thou wilt not survive when we must fall." 
This to herself: and tow Yd the sacred spot 
She drew the aged Man, to wait their common lot. 

But see Polites, one of Priam's Sons, 

Charg'd with the death which he in terror shuns ! 700 

The wounded Youth, escap'd from Pyrrhus, flies 
Through showers of darts, through press of enemies, 
Where the long Porticos invite ; the space 
Of widely -vacant Courts his footsteps trace. 

Him, Pyrrhus, following near and still more near, 705 

Hath caught at with his hand, and presses with his spear ; 

669-70 Pillar and portal to the dust are brought ; 

And the Greeks lord it, where the fire is not. C. W. 
697-8 Then to herself she drew the aged Sire 

And to the laurel shade together they retire C. W. 


But when at length this unremitting flight 

Had brought him full before his Father's sight, 

He fell and scarcely prostrate on the ground, 

Pour'd forth his life from many a streaming wound. 710 

Here Priam, scorning death and self -regard, 

His voice restrain'd not, nor his anger spar'd ; 

But "Shall the Gods," he cries, "if Gods there be 

Who note such acts, and care for piety, 

Requite this heinous crime with measure true, 715 

Nor one reward withhold that is thy due ; 

Who thus a Father's presence hast defil'd, 

And forc'd upon his sight the murder of a Child. 

Not thus Achilles' self, from whom a tongue 

Vers'd in vainglorious falsehood boasts thee sprung, 720 

Dealt with an enemy ; my prayer he heard ; 

A Suppliant's rights in Priam he rever'd, 

Gave Hector back to rest within the tomb, 

And me remitted to my royal home." 

This said, the aged Man a javelin cast ; 725 

With weak arm faltering to the shield it past ; 

The tinkling shield the harmless point repelPd, 

Which, to the boss it hung from, barely held. 

Then Pyrrhus, "To my Sire, Pelides, bear \ 

These feats of mine, ill relish 'd as they are, > 730 

Tidings of which I make thee messenger ! J 

To him a faithful history relate 

Of Neoptolemus degenerate. 

Now die!" So saying, towards the Altar, through 

A stream of filial blood, the tottering Sire he drew ; 735 

His left hand lock'd within the tangled hair 

Rais'd, with the right, a brandish'd sword in air, 

Then to the hilt impell'd it through his side ; 

Thus, mid a blazing City, Priam died. 

Troy falling round liim, thus he clos'd his fate, 740 

And the proud Lord of many an Asian State ! 

Upon the shore lies stretch'd his mangled frame, 

Head from the shoulders torn, a Body without name. 

Then first it was, that Horror girt me round ; 

ChilFd my frail heart, and all my senses bound ; 745 

The image of my Father cross'd my mind ; 

714-15 acts . . . heinous crime] crimes . . . deed of thine C. W. 
727-8 Straight by the brass impell'd that feebly rung 

Down from the boss the harmless weapon hung C. W. 
742-3 The abandon'd corse lies stretch'd upon the shore 

Head from the shoulders torn, its very name no more. C. W. 


Perchance in fate with slaughtered Priam join'd ; 

Equal in age, thus may He breathe out life, 

Creusa also, my deserted Wife! 

The Child lulus left without defence, 75 

And the whole House laid bare to violence ! 

Backward I look'd, and cast my eyes before ; 

My Friends had fail'd, and courage was no more ; 

All, wearied out, had follow'd desperate aims, 

Self-dash'd to earth, or stifled in the flames. 755 

Thus was I left alone ; such light my guide 
As the conflagrant walls and roofs supplied ; 
When my far-wandering eyesight chanc'd to meet 
Helen sequester'd on a lonely seat 

Amid the Porch of Vesta ; She, through dread 760 

Of Trojan vengeance amply merited, 
Of Grecian punishment, and what the ire 
Of a deserted Husband might require, 
Thither had flown there sate, the common bane 
Of Troy and of her Country to obtain 765 

Protection from the Altar, or to try 
What hope might spring from trembling secresy. 
Methought my falling Country cried aloud, 
And the revenge it seem'd to ask, I vow'd ; 

"What! shall she visit Sparta once again ? . 770 

In triumph enter with a loyal Train ? 
Consort, and Home, and Sires and Children view 
By Trojan Females serv'd, a Phrygian retinue ? 
For this was Priam slain ? Troy burnt ? the shore 
Of Dardan Seas so often drench'd in gore ? 775 

Not so ; for though such victory can claim 
In its own nature no renown of fame, 
The punishment that ends the guilty days 
Even of a Woman, shall find grateful praise ; 

My soul, at least, shall of her weight be eas'd, 780 

The ashes of my Countrymen appeas'd." 

Such words broke forth ; and in my own despite \ 
Onward I bore, when through the dreary night } 
Appear'd my gracious Mother, vested in pure light ; J 
Never till now before me did she shine 785 

So much herself, so thoroughly divine ; 
Goddess reveal'd in all her beauty, love, \ 
And majesty, as she is wont to move, 1 
A Shape familiar to the Courts of Jove ! J 

763 deserted] forsaken C. W. 786 so thoroughly] of aspect so C. W. 


The hand she seiz'd her touch sufficed to stay, 790 

Then through her roseate mouth these words found easy way. 

"O Son! what pain excites a wrath so blind ? 
Or could all thought of me desert thy mind ? 
Where now is left thy Parent worn with age ? 

Wilt thou not rather in that search engage ? 795 

Learn with thine eyes if yet Creusa live, 
And if the Boy Ascanius still survive. 
Them do the Greeks environ: that they spare, \ 
That swords so long abstain, and flames forbear, J 
Is through the intervention of my care. J 800 

Not Spartan Helen's beauty, so abhorr'd 
By thee, not Paris, her upbraided Lord 
The hostile Gods have laid this grandeur low, 
Troy from the Gods receives her overthrow. 

Look ! for the impediment of misty shade 805 

With which thy mortal sight is overlaid 
I will disperse ; nor thou refuse to hear 
Parental mandates, nor resist through fear ! 
There, where thou seest block rolling upon block, 
Mass rent from mass, and dust condens'd with smoke 810 

In billowy intermixture, Neptune smites 
The walls, with labouring Trident disunites 
From their foundation tearing up, as suits 
His anger, Ilium from her deepest roots. 

Fiercest of all, before the Scaean Gate, 815 

Arm'd Juno stands, beckoning to animate 
The Bands she summons from the Argive Fleet, 
Tritonian Pallas holds her chosen seat 
High on the Citadel, look back ! see there 

Her ^Egis beaming forth a stormy glare ! 820 

The very Father, tjove himself, supplies 
Strength to the Greeks, sends heaven-born enemies 
Against the Dardan Arms. My Son, take flight, 
And close the struggle of this dismal night ! 

I will not quit thy steps whate'er betide, \ 825 

But to thy Father's House will safely guide." J 
She ceas'd, and did in shades her presence hide, j 

791 through . . . mouth] from , . . lips C. W. 
811-14 Tower and wall 

Upheav'd by Neptune's mighty trident fall, 

To earth ; his wrath their deep foundation bares 

And the strong City by the roots up tears. MS. 
827 did in gathering shades C. W. 


Dire Faces still are seen and Deities 

Adverse to Troy appear, her mighty Enemies. 

Now was all Ilium, far as sight could trace, \ 830 

Settling and sinking in the Fire's embrace, } 
Neptunian Troy subverted from her base. J 
Even so, a Mountain-Ash, long tried by shock 
Of storms endur'd upon the native rock, 

When he is doom'd from rustic arms to feel 835 

The rival blows of persevering steel, 
Nods high with threatening forehead, till at length 
Wounds unremitting have subdued his strength ; 
With groans the ancient Tree foretells his end ; \ 
He falls ; and fragments of the mountain blend J 840 

With the precipitous ruin. I descend J 

And, as the Godhead leads, 'twixt foe and fire 
Advance : the darts withdraw, the flames retire. 

But when beneath her guidance I had come 

Far as the Gates of the paternal Dome, 845 

My Sire, whom first I sought and wish'd to bear 
For safety to the Hills, disdains that care t ; 
Nor will he now, since Troy hath fall'n, consent 
Life to prolong, or suffer banishment. 

"Think Fe," he says, "the current of whose blood 850 

Is unimpaired, whose vigour unsubdued, 
Think Ye of flight ; that I should live, the Gods 
Wish not, or they had sav'd me these Abodes. 
Not once, but twice, this City to survive, 

What need against such destiny to strive ? 855 

While thus, even thus dispos'd the body lies, 
Depart ! pronounce my funeral obsequies ! 
Not long shall I have here to wait for death, 
A pitying Foe will rid me of my breath, 

Will seek my spoils ; and should I lie forlorn 860 

Of sepulture, the loss may well be borne. 
Full long obnoxious to the Powers divine 
Life lingers out these barren years of mine ; 
Even since the date when me the eternal Sire 

Swept with the thunderbolt, and scath'd with fire." 865 

Thus he persists ; Creusa and her Son 
Second the counter -prayer by me begun ; 
The total House with weeping deprecate 

828 still are seen and] are apparent C. W. 829 appear] the Gods 

C. W. 856 dispos*d the] composed my C. W. 868 The 

whole House weeping round him C. W. 


This weight of wilful impulse given to Fate ; 

He, all unmov'd by pleadings and by tears, 870 

Guards his resolve, and to the spot adheres. 

Arms once again attract me, hurried on 
In misery, and craving death alone. 
"And hast thou hop'd that I could move to find "j 
A place of rest, thee, Father, left behind ? > 875 

How could parental lips the guilty thought unbind ? J 
If in so great a City Heaven ordain 
Utter extinction ; if thy soul retain 
With stedfast longing that abrupt design 

Which would to falling Troy add thee and thine ; 880 

That way to Death lies open ; soon will stand 
Pyrrhus before thee with the reeking brand 
That drank the blood of Priam ; He whose hand 
The Son in presence of the Father slays, 

And at the Altar's base the slaughtered Father lays. 885 

For this, benignant Mother! didst thou lead 
My steps along a way from danger freed, 
That I might see remorseless Men invade 
The holiest places that these roofs o'ershade ? 

See Father, Consort, Son, all tinged and dy'd 890 

With mutual sprinklings, perish side by side ? 
Arms bring me, Friends ; bring Arms ! our last hour speaks, 
It calls the Vanquished ; cast me on the Greeks. 
In rallying combat let us join ; not all, 
This night, unsolac'd by revenge shall fall." 895 

The sword resumes its place ; the shield I bear ; 
And hurry now to reach the open air ; 
When on the ground before the threshold cast ^ 
Lo ! where Creusa hath my feet embrac'd | 

And holding up Ittlus, there cleaves fast ! J 900 

"If thou, departing, be resolv'd to die, 
Take us through all that in thy road may lie ; 
But if on Arms, already tried, attend 
A single hope, then first this House defend ; 

On whose protection Sire and Son are thrown, 905 

And I, the Wife that once was call'd thine own." 

Such outcry filTd the Mansion, when behold 
A strange portent, and wonderous to be told! 
All suddenly a luminous crest was seen ; 

891 Each in the other's life-blood C. W. 899 Creusa check'd my 

course C. W. 902 Let us b partners of thy destiny C. W. 


Which, where the Boy lulus hung between 910 

The arms of each sad Parent, rose and shed, 

Tapering aloft, a lustre from his head ; 

Along the hair the lambent flame proceeds 

With harmless touch, and round his temples feeds. 

In fear we haste, the burning tresses shake, 915 

And from the fount the holy fire would slake ; 

But joyfully his hands Anchises rais'd, 

His voice not silent as on Heaven he gaz'd : 

" Almighty Jupiter! if prayers have power 

To bend thee, look on us ; I seek no more ; 920 

If aught our piety deserve, Oh deign \ 

The hope this Omen proffers to sustain ; > 

Nor, Father, let us ask a second Sign in vain!"J 

Thus spake the Sire, and scarcely ended, ere 

A peal of sudden thunder, loud and clear, 925 

Broke from the left ; and shot through Heaven a star 
Trailing its torch, that sparkled from afar ; 
Above the roof the star, conspicuous sight, \ 
Ran to be hid on Ida's sylvan height. > 

The long way marking with a train of light. J 930 

The furrowy track the distant sky illumes, 
And far and wide are spread sulphureous fumes. 
Uprisen from earth, my aged Sire implores 
The Deities, the holy Star adores ; 

"Now am I conquer'd now is no delay; 935 

Gods of my Country ! where Ye lead the way 
'Tis not in me to hesitate or swerve ; 

Preserve my House, Ye Powers, this Little One preserve ! 
Yours is this augury ; and Troy hath still 

Life in the signs that manifest your will ! 940 

I cannot chuse but yield ; and now to Thee, 
O Son, a firm Associate will I be!" 

He spake ; and nearer through the City came 
Rolling more audibly, the sea of flame. 

"Now give, dear Father, to this neck the freight 945 

Of thy old age ; the burthen will be light 
For which my shoulders bend ; henceforth one fate, 
Evil or good shall we participate. 
The Boy shall journey, tripping at my side ; 

Our steps, at distance mark'd, will be Creusa's guide. 950 

My Household ! heed these words : upon a Mound 
(To those who quit the City obvious ground) 

928-9 ... it ran, and in our sight, 
Set on the brow of C. W. 


A Temple, once by Ceres honour'd, shews 

Its mouldering front ; hard by a Cypress grows, 

Through ages guarded with religious care ; 955 

Thither, by various roads, let all repair. 

Thou, Father ! take these relics ; let thy hand 

Bear the Penates of our native land ; 

I may not touch them, fresh from deeds of blood, 

Till the stream cleanse me with its living flood." 960 

Forthwith an ample vest my shoulders clad, 
Above the vest a lion's skin was spread, 
Next came the living Burthen ; fast in mine 
His little hand lulus doth entwine, 

Following his Father with no equal pace ; 965 

Creusa treads behind ; the darkest ways we trace. 
And me,.erewhile insensible to harms, \ 

Whom adverse Greeks agglomerate in Arms } 
Mov'd not, now every breath of air alarms ; J 

All sounds have power to trouble me with fear, 970 

Anxious for whom I lead, and whom I bear. 

Thus, till the Gates were nigh, my course I shap'd, 
And thought the hazards of the time escap'd, 
When through the gloom a noise of feet we hear, 
Quick sounds that seem'd to press upon the ear ; 975 

"Fly," cries my Father, looking forth, "Oh fly! 
They come I see their shields and dazzling panoply!" 
Here, in my trepidation was I left, 
Through some unfriendly Power, of mind bereft, 
For, while I journey 'd devious and forlorn, 980 

From me, me wretched, was Creusa torn ; 
Whether stopp'd short by death, or from the road 
She wander'd, or sank down beneath a load 
Of weariness, no vestiges made plain : 

She vanished, ne'er to meet these eyes again. 985 

Nor did I seek her lost, nor backward turn 
My mind, until we reach'd the sacred bourne 
Of ancient Ceres. All, even all, save One 
Were in the spot assembl'd ; She alone, 

As if her melancholy fate disown'd 990 

Companion, Son, and Husband, nowhere could be found. 
Who, man or God, from my reproach was free ? 
Had desolated Troy a heavier woe for me ? 
'Mid careful friends my Sire and Son I place, 

986-7 I sought her not, misgiving none had I 

Until I reached the sacred boundary C W. 


With the Penates of our Phrygian race, 995 

Deep in a winding vale ; my footsteps then retrace ; 
Resolv'd the whole wide City to explore 
And face the perils of the night once more. 

So, with refulgent Arms begirt, I haste 

Tow'rd the dark gates through which my feet had pass'd, 1000 

Remeasure, where I may, the beaten ground, 
And turn at every step a searching eye around. 
Horror prevails on all sides, while with dread 
The very silence is impregnated. 

Fast to my Father's Mansion I repair, 1005 

If haply, haply, She had harbour'd there. 
Seiz'd by the Grecians was the whole Abode: 
And now, voracious fire its mastery shew'd, 
Roll'd upward by the wind in flames that meet \ 

High o'er the roof, air rages with the heat ; > 1010 

Thence to the Towers I pass, where Priam held his Seat.) 
Already Phoenix and Ulysses kept, 
As chosen Guards, the spoils of Ilium, heap'd 
In Juno's Temple, and the wealth that rose 

Pil'd on the floors of vacant porticos, 1015 

Prey torn through fire from many a secret Hold, 
Vests, tables of the Gods, and cups of massy gold. 
And, in long order, round these treasures stand 
Matrons, and Boys, and Youths, a trembling Band ! 

Nor did I spare with fearless voice to raise 1020 

Shouts in the gloom that fill'd the streets and ways, 
And with reduplication sad and vain, 
Creusa call'd, again and yet again. 
While thus I prosecute an endless quest 

A Shape was seen, unwelcome and unblest ; 1025 

Creusa's Shade appoar'd before rny eyes, 
Her Image, but of more than mortal size ; 
Then I, as if the power of life had pass'd 
Into my upright hair, stood speechless and aghast. 
She thus to stop my troubles at their source: 1030 

"Dear Consort, why this fondly -desperate course ? 
Supernal Powers, not doubtfully, prepare 
These issues ; going hence thou wilt not bear 
Creusa with thee ; know that Fate denies 

This Fellowship, and this the Ruler of the skies. 1035 

Long wanderings will be thine, no home allow'd ; 
Vast the extent of sea that must be plough'd 

1035 and this] nor this permits C. W. 


Ere, mid Hesperian fields where Tiber flows 

With gentle current, thy tired keels repose. 

Joy meets thee there, a Realm and royal Bride, \ 1040 

For lov'd Creusa let thy tears be dried ; 1 

I go not where the Myrmidons abide. J 

No proud Dolopian Mansion shall I see 

Nor shall a Grecian Dame be serv'd by me, 

Deriv'd from Jove, and rais'd by thee so high, 1045 

Spouse to the Offspring of a Deity, 

Far otherwise ; upon my native plains 

Me the great Mother of the Gods detains. 

Now, fare thee well ! protect our Son, and prove 

By tenderness for him, our common love." 1050 

This having said my trouble to subdue, 
Into thin air she silently withdrew ; 
Left me while tears were gushing from their springs, 
And on my tongue a thousand hasty things ; 

Thrice with my arms I strove her neck to clasp, 1055 

Thrice had my hands succeeded in their grasp, 
From which the Image slipp'd away, as light 
As the swift winds, or sleep when taking flight. 

Such was the close ; and now the night thus spent, 
Back to my Friends an eager course I bent, 1060 

And here a crowd with wonder I behold 
Of new Associates, concourse manifold ! 
Matrons, and Men, and Youths that hither hied, \ 
For exile gathering ; and from every side > 

The wretched people throng'd and multiplied ; J 1065 

Prepar'd with mind and means their flight to speed 
Across the seas, where I might chuse to lead. 

Now on the ridge of Ida's summit grey 
Rose Lucifer, prev&nient to the day. 

The Grecians held the Gates in close blockade, 1070 

Hope was there none of giving further aid ; 
I yielded, took my Father up once more, 
And sought the Mountain, with the Freight I bore. 


Now when the Gods had crush'd the Asian State 

And Priam's race, by too severe a fate ; 

When they were pleas'd proud Ilium to destroy, 

And smokes upon the ground Neptunian Troy ; 

The sad Survivors, from their country driven, 5 

1047 This fate I dread not; on etc. C. W. 


Seek distant shores, impell'd by signs from Heaven. 

Beneath Antandros we prepare a Fleet 

There my Companions muster at the feet 

Of Phrygian Ida, dubious in our quest, 

And where the Fates may suffer us to rest. 10 

Scarcely had breath 'd the earliest summer gales 

Before Anchises bid to spread the sails ; 

Weeping I quit the Port, my native coast, 

And fields where Troy once was ; and soon am lost 

An Exile on the bosom of the seas, 15 

With Friends, Son, household Gods and the great Deities. 

Right opposite is spread a peopled Land, 
Where once the fierce Lycurgus held command ; 
The martial Thracians plough its champain wide, \ 
To Troy by hospitable rites allied, > 20 

While Fortune favour 'd to this coast we hied ; J 
Where entering with unfriendly Fates, I lay 
My first foundations in a hollow bay ; 
And call the men ^Eneades, to share 

With the new Citoyens the name I bear. 25 

To Dionaean Venus we present, 
And to the Gods who aid a fresh intent, 
The sacred offerings ; and with honour due 
Upon the shore a glossy Bull I slew 

To the great King of Heaven. A Mount was near \ 30 

Upon whose summit cornel trees uprear > 

Their boughs, and myrtles rough with many a spear. J 
Studious to deck the Altar with green shoots, 
Thither I turn'd ; and, tugging at the roots 

Strove to despoil the thicket ; when behold 35 

A dire portent, and wondrous to be told! 
No sooner was the shatter'd root laid bare 
Of the first Tree I struggled to uptear, 

Than from the fibres drops of blood distill'd, \ 

Whose blackness stain'd the ground: me horror thrilTd: } 40 
My frame all shudder'd, and my blood was chiird. J 

Persisting in the attempt, I toil'd to free 
The flexile body of another tree, 
Anxious the latent causes to explore ; 

And from the bark blood trickled as before. 45 

Revolving much in mind forthwith I paid 
Vows to the sylvan Nymphs, and sought the aid 
Of Father Mars, spear-shaking God who yields 
His stern protection to the Thracian fields ; 

That to a prosperous issue they would guide 50 

917.17 IV Z 


The accident, the omen turn aside. 

But, for a third endeavour, when with hands 

Eagerly strain 'd, knees press'd against the sands, 

I strive the myrtle lances to uproot 

With my whole strength (speak shall I, or be mute ?) 55 

From the deep tomb a mournful groan waa sent 

And a voice followed, uttering this lament: 

"Torment me not, ^Eneas. Why this pain \ 

Given to a buried Man ? O cease, refrain, \ 

And spare thy pious hands this guilty stain! J 60 

Troy brought me forth, no alien to thy blood ; 

Nor yields a senseless trunk this sable flood. 

Oh fly the cruol land ; the greedy shore 

Forsake with speed, for I am Polydore. 

A flight of iron darts have pierced me through, 65 

Took* life, and into this sharp thicket grew." 

Then truly did I stand aghast, cold fear 

Strangling my voice, and lifting up my hair. 

Erewhile from Troy had Priam sent by stealth 

This Polydore, and with him stores of wealth ; 70 

Trusting the Thracian King his Son would rear : 

For wretched Priam now gave way to fear, 

Seeing the Town beleaguer 'd. These alarms 

Spread to the Thracian King, and when the Arms 

Of Troy were quelled, to the victorious side 75 

Of Agamemnon he his hopes allied ; 

Breaking through sacred laws without remorse, 

Slew Polydore, and seized the gold by force. 

What mischief to poor mortals has not thirst 

Of gold created ! appetite accurs'd ! 80 

Soon as a calmer mind I could recal 

I seek the Chiefs, my Father above all ; 

Report the omen, and their thoughts demand. 

One mind is theirs, to quit the impious Land ; 

With the first breezes of the South to fly 85 

Sick of polluted hospitality. 

Forthwith on Polydore our hands bestow 

A second burial, and fresh mould upthrow ; 

And to his Manes raise beside the mound \ 

Altars, which, as they stood in mournful round, 1 9c 

Cerulean fillets and black cypress bound ; J 

And with loose hair a customary Band 

Of Trojan Women in the circle stand. 

From cups warm milk and sacred blood we pour, \ 

Thus to the tomb the Spirit we restore ; J 93 

And with a farewell cry its future rest implore. J 


Then, when the sea grew calm, and gently creeps 
The soft South-wind and calls us to the Deeps, 
The Crew draw down our Ships ; they crowd the Shore, \ 
The Port we leave ; with Cities sprinkl'd o'er, > 100 

Slowly the Coast recedes, and then is seen no more. J 

In the 'mid Deep there lies a spot of earth, 
Sacred to her who gave the Nereids birth ; 
And to ^gean Neptune. Long was toss'd 

This then unfruitful ground, and driven from coast to coast ; 105 
But, as it floated on the wide-spread sea, 
The Archer- God, in filial piety, 
Between two Sister islands bound it fast 
For Man's abode, and to defy the blast. 

Thither we steer. At length the unruffled Place no 

Received our Vessels in her calm embrace. 
We land and, when the pleasant soil we trod, 
Adored the City of the Delian God, 
Anius, the King (whose brows were wreath'd around 
With laurel garlands and with fillets bound, 115 

His sacred symbols as Apollo's Priest) 
Ad vane 'd to meet us, from our ships releas'd ; 
He recognized Anchises ; and their hands 
Gladly they join, renewing ancient Bands 

Of Hospitality ; nor longer waits 120 

The King, but leads us to his friendly gates. 

To seek the Temple was my early care ; 
To whose Divinity I bow'd in prayer 
Within the reverend Pile of ancient stone : \ 

"Thymbreus ! painful wanderings have we known > 125 

Grant, to the weary, dwellings of their own ! J 
A City yield, a Progeny ensure, 
A habitation destined to endure ! 
To us, sad relics of the Grecian Sword, 

(All that is left of Troy) another Troy accord! 130 

What shall we seek ? whom follow ? 'where abide ?\ 
Vouchsafe an augury our course to guide ; J 

Father, descend, and thro' our Spirits glide!" J 
Then shook, or seem'd to shake, the entire Abode ; 
A trembling seiz'd the Laurels of the God ; 135 

The mountain rock'd ; and sounds with murmuring swell \ 
R/oll'd from the Shrine ; upon the ground I fell, 1 

And heard the guiding voice our fates foretell. J 

"Ye patient Dardans ! that same Land which bore 
From the first Stock your Fathers heretofore ; 140 


That ancient Mother will unfold her breast 
For your return, seek Her with faithful quest ; 
So shall the ^Enean Line command the earth 
As long as future years to future years give birth." 

Thus Phoebus answer'd, and forthwith the crowd 145 

Burst into transport vehement and loud : 
All ask what Phoebus wills ; and where the bourne 
To which Troy's wandering Race are destin'd to return. 
Then spake my aged Father, turning o'er 

Traditions handed down from days of yore ; 150 

"Give ear," he said, "O Chieftains, while my words 
Unfold the hopes this Oracle affords ! 
On the mid sea the Cretan Island lies, 
Dear to the sovereign Lord of earth and skies ; 
There *is the Idean Mount, and there we trace 155 

The fountain-head, the cradle of our race. 
A hundred Cities, places of command, 
Rise in the circle of that fruitful land ; 
Thence to Rhoetean shores (if things oft heard 
I faithfully remember) Teucer steer 'd, 160 

Our first progenitor ; and chose a spot 
His Seat of government when Troy was not ; 
While yet the Natives housed in vallies deep, 
Ere Pergamus had risen, to crown the lofty steep. 
From Crete came Cybele; from Crete we gained 165 

All that the Mother of the Gods ordain'd ; 
The Cory bant ian Cymbals thence we drew, 
The Idaean Grove ; and faithful Silence, due 
To rites mysterious ; and the Lion pair 

Ruled by the Goddess from her awful Car. 170 

Then haste the Mandate of the Gods obey 
And to the Gnossian Realms direct our way ; 
But first the winds propitiate, and if Jove 
From his high Throne the enterprize approve, 
The third day's light shall bring our happy Fleet 175 

To a safe harbour on the shores of Crete." 

He spake, appropriate Victims forth were led, 
And by his hand upon the Altars bled ; 
A Bull to soothe the God who rules the Sea 
A Bull, O bright Apollo ! fell to thee, x8o 

A sable sheep for Hyems doth he smite, 
For the soft Zephyrs one of purest white. 
Fame told that regions would in Crete be found 
Bare of the foe, deserted tracts of ground ; 


Left by Idomeneus, to recent flight 185 

Driven from those realms his patrimonial right. 

Chear'd by a hope those valiant seats to gain 

We quit the Ortygian Shore, and scud along the Main. 

Near ridgy Naxos, travers'd by a rout 

Of madding Bacchanals with song and shout ; 190 

By green Donysa rising o'er the Deeps ; 

Olearos, and snow-white Parian steeps ; 

Flying with prosperous sail thro' sounds and seas 

Starr'd with the thickly -clustering Cyclades. 

Confused and various clamour rises high ; \ 195 

"To Crete and to our Ancestors" we cry 1 

While Ships and Sailors each with other vie. J 

Still freshening from the stern the breezes blow, 

And speed the Barks they chase, where'er we go ; 

Till rest is giv'n upon the ancient Shores 200 

Of the Curetes to their Sails and Oars. 

So with keen hope I trace a circling Wall \ 

And the new City, by a name which all > 

Repeat with gladness, Pergamus I call. J 

The thankful Citoyens I then exhort 205 

To love their hearths, and raise a guardian Fort. 

The Fleet is drawn ashore ; in eager Bands 

The Settlers cultivate the allotted lands ; 

And some for Hymeneal rites prepare ; \ 

I plan our new Abodes, fit laws declare ; J 210 

But pestilence now came, and tainted the wide air. J 

To piteous wasting were our limbs betrayed ; 

On trees and plants the deadly season preyed. 

The men relinquished their dear lives, or life 

Remaining, dragged their frames in feeble strife. 215 

Thereafter, Sirius clomb the sultry sky, \ 

Parch 'd every herb to bare sterility ; J 

And forc'd the sickly corn its nurture to deny. J 

My anxious Sire exhorts to seek once more 

The Delian shrine, and pardon thence implore ; 220 

Ask of the God to what these sorrows tend, 

Whence we must look for aid, our voyage whither bend. 

'Twas night, and couch'd upon the dewy ground 
The weary Animals in sleep were bound, 

When those Penates which my hands had snatch'd 225 

From burning Troy, while on my bed I watch'd, 
Appeared, and stood before me, to my sight 
Made manifest by copious streams of light 
Pour'd from the body of the full-orbed Moon, 


That thro' the loop-holes of my chamber shone. 230 

Thus did they speak: "We come, the Delegates 

Of Phoebus, to foretell thy future fates : 

Things which his Delian tripod to thine ear 

Would have announced, thro' us he utters here. 

When Troy was burnt we crost the billowy sea \ 235 

Faithful Attendants on thy arms, and We | 

Shall raise to Heaven thy proud Posterity. J 

But thou thy destined wanderings stoutly bear, 

And for the Mighty, mighty seats prepare ; 

These thou must leave ; Apollo ne'er design'd 240 

That thou in Crete a resting-place should 'st find. 

There is a Country styled by Men of Greece 

Hesperia strong in arms the soil of large increase, 

^Enotrians held it ; men of later fame 

Call it Italia, from their Leader's name ; 245 

Our home is there ; there lies the native place 

Of Dardaiius, and lasius whence our race. 

Rise then ; and to thy aged Father speak 

Indubitable tidings ; bid him seek 

The Ausonian Land, and Corithus ; Jove yields 230 

No place to us among Dictean fields." 

Upon the sacred spectacle I gaz'd, 
And heard the utterance of the Gods, amaz'd. 
Sleep in this visitation had no share ; 

Each face I saw the fillets round their hair ! 255 

Chilled with damp fear I started from the bed, 
And raised my hands and voice to heav'n then shed 
On the recipient hearth untemper'd wine 
In prompt libation to the powers divine. 

This rite performed with joy, my Sire I sought 260 

Charged with the message that the Gods had brought ; 
When I had open'd all in order due 
The truth found easy entrance ; for he knew 
The double Ancestors, the ambiguous race, 

And own'd his new mistake in person and in place. 265 

Then he exclaim'd "O Son, severely tried 
In all that Troy is fated to abide, 
This course Cassandra's voice to me made known ; 
She prophesied of this, and she alone ; 

Italia oft she cried, and words outthrew 270 

Of realms Hesperian, to our Nation due : 
But how should Phrygians such a power erect ? 
Whom did Cassandra's sayings then affect ? 
Now, let us yield to Phoebus, and pursue 


The happier lot he offers to our view." 275 

All heard with transport what my Father spake. 

This habitation also we forsake ; 

And strait, a scanty remnant left behind, 

Once more in hollow Ships we court the helpful wind. 

But when along the Deep our Gallies steer'd, 280 

And the last speck of land had disappeared, 
And nought was visible, above, around, 
Save the blank sky, and ocean without bound, 
Then came a Tempest -laden Cloud that stood 

Right over me, and rouz'd the blackening flood. 285 

The fleet is scatter 'd, while around us rise 
Billows that every moment magnifies. 
Day fled, and heaven, enveloped in a night 
Of stormy rains, is taken from our sight ; 

By instincts of their own the clouds are riven 290 

And prodigal of fire while we are driven 
Far from the points we aim'd at, every bark 
Errant upon the waters rough and dark. 
Even Palinurus owns that night and day, 

Thus in each other lost, confound his way. 295 

Three sunless days we struggle with the gales, 
And for three starless nights all guidance fails ; 
The fourth day came, and to our wistful eyes 
The far-oflt Land then first began to rise, 

Lifting itself in hills that gently broke 300 

Upon our view, and rolling clouds of smoke. 
Sails drop ; the Mariners, with spring and stoop \ 

Timed to their oars, the eddying waters scoop, > 

The Vessels skim the waves, alive from prow to poop. J 

Saved from the perils of the stormy seas, 305 

We disembark upon the Strophades ; 
Amid the Ionian Waters lie this pair 
Of Islands, and that Grecian name they bear. 
The brood of Harpies, when in fear they left 

The doors of Phineus, of that home bereft 310 

And of their former tables thither fled, 
There dwelt with dire Celseno at their head. 
No plague so hideous, for impure abuse 
Of upper air, did ever Styx produce, 

Stirr'd by the anger of the Gods, to fling 315 

From out her waves some new-born monstrous Thing. 
Birds they, with virgin faces, crooked claws ; \ 
Of filthy paunch and of insatiate maws, 1 

And pallid mien from hunger without pause. J 


Here safe in port we saw the fields o'erspread 320 

With beeves and goats, untended as they fed. 
Prompt slaughter follows ; offerings there we pay, 
And call on Jove himself to share the prey. 
Then, couch by couch, along the bay we rear, 

And feast well pleased upon that goodly chear. 325 

But, clapping loud their wings, the Harpy brood 
Hush from the mountain pounce upon our food, 
Pollute the morsels which they fail to seize 
And, screaming, load with noisome scents the breeze. 
Again but now within a long-drawn glade 330 

O'erhung with rocks and boughs of roughest shade 
We deck our tables, and replace the fire 
Upon the Altars ; but, with noises dire, 
From different points of Heaven, from blind retreats, 
They flock and hovering o'er defile the meats. 335 

"War let them have," I cried, and gave command 
To stem the next foul onset, arms in hand. 
Forthwith the men withdraw from sight their shields 
And hide their swords where grass a covert yields, 
But when the Harpies with loud clang once more 340 

Gathered, and spread upon the curved shore, 
From a tall eminence in open view 
His trumpet sound of charge Misenus blew ; 
Then do our swords assault those Fowls obscene, 
Of generation aqueous and terrene. 345 

But what avails it ? oft repeated blows 
They with inviolable plumes oppose ; 
Baffle the steel, and, leaving stains behind 
And spoil half eaten, mount upon the wind ; 

Celaeno only on a summit high 350 

Perched and there vented this sad prophecy. 

"By war, Descendants of Laomedon! 
For our slain Steers, by war would ye atone ? 
Why seek the blameless Harpies to expel 

From regions where by right of birth they dwell ? 355 

But learn, and fast within your memories hold,^ 
Things which to Phoebus Jupiter foretold, J 
Phoebus to me, and I to you unfold, J 

I, greatest of the Furies. Ye, who strive 

For Italy, in Italy shall arrive ; 360 

Havens within that wished-for land, by leave 
Of favouring winds, your Navy shall receive ; 
But do not hope to raise those promised Walls 
Ere on your head the curse of hunger falls ; 


And, for the slaughter of our herds, your doom 365 

Hath been your very tables to consume, 

Gnaw'd and devoured thro' utter want of food!" 

She spake, and, borne on wings, sought refuge in the wood. 

The haughty spirits of the Men were quail'd, 

A shuddering fear thro' every heart prevail'd ; 370 

On force of arms no longer they rely 
To daunt whom prayers and vows must pacify, 
Whether to Goddesses the offence were given, 
Or they with dire and obscene Birds had striven. 
Due Rites ordain'd, as on the shore he stands, 375 

My Sire Anchises, with uplifted hands, 
Invokes the greater Gods ; "Ye Powers, disarm 
This threat, and from your Votaries turn the harm!" 
Then bids to loose the Cables and unbind 
The willing canvas, to the breeze resign'd. 380 

Where guides the Steersman and the south winds urge 
Our rapid keels, we skim the foaming surge, 
Before us opens midway in the flood 
Zacynthus, shaded with luxuriant wood ; 

Dulichium now, and Same next appears ; 385 

And Neritos a craggy summit rears ; 
We shun the rocks of Ithaca, ill Nurse 
Of stern Ulysses ! and her soil we curse ; 
Then Mount Leucate shews its vapoury head ; 

Where, from his temple, Phoebus strikes with dread 390 

The passing Mariner ; but no mischance 
Now fear'd, to that small City we advance ; 
Gladly we haul the sterns ashore, and throw 
The biting Anchor out from every prow. 

Unlook'd-for land thus reach'd, to Jove we raise 395 

The votive Altars which with incense blaze ; 
Our Youth, illustrating the Actian Strand 
With Trojan games, as in their native land 
Imbue their naked limbs with slippery oil, 

And pant for mastery in athletic toil ; 400 

Well pleas'd so fair a voyage to have shap'd 
'Mid Grecian Towns on every side escap'd. 
Sol thro' his annual round meanwhile had pass'd, 
And the Sea roughened in the wintry blast ; 

High on the Temple Gate a brazen shield 405 

I fixed, which mighty Abbas used to wield ; 
Inscriptive verse declar'd, why this was done, 


"Arms from the conquering Greeks and by JEneas won." 

Then at my word the Ships their moorings leave, 

And with contending oars the waters cleave; 410 

Phaeacian Peaks beheld in air and lost 

As we proceed, Epirus now we coast ; 

And, a Chaonian harbour won, we greet 

Buthrotas, perch'd upon her lofty seat. 

Helenus, Son of Priam, here was Chief, 415 

(So ran the tale ill-fitted for belief), 
Govern'd where Grecian Pyrrhus once had reign'd, 
Whose sceptre wielding he, therewith, had gain'd 
Andromache his Spouse, to nuptials led 

Once more by one whom Troy had borne and bred. 420 

I long'd to greet him, wish'd to hear his fate 
As his own voice the Story would relate. 
So from the Port in which our gallies lay, 
Right tow'rds the City I pursu'd my way. 

A Grove there was, where by a streamlet's side 425 

With the proud name of Simois dignified, 
Andromache a solemn service paid, 
(As chanc'd that day) invoking Hector's shade ; 
There did her hands the mournful gifts present 
Before a tomb his empty monument 430 

Of living green -sward hallowed by her care ; \ 
And two funereal Altars, planted near, J 

Quicken'd the motion of each falling tear, J 
When my approach she witness'd, and could see 
Our Phrygian Arms, she shrank as from a prodigy, 435 

In blank astonishment and terror shook, 
While the warm blood her tottering limbs forsook. 
She swoon'd and long lay senseless on the ground, 
Before these broken words a passage found ; 

''Was that a re&l Shape which met my view ? 440 

Son of a Goddess, is thy coming true ? 
Liv'st thou ? or, if the light of life be fled, 
Hector, where is he ?" This she spake, then spread 
A voice of weeping thro' the Grove, and I 

Utter'd these few faint accents in disturb'd reply. 445 

"Fear not to trust thine eyes ; I live indeed, 
And fraught with trouble is the life I lead. 
Fallen from the height, where with thy glorious Mate 
Thou stood'st, Andromache, what change had Fate 
To offer worthy of thy former state ? 450 

Say, did the Gods take pity on thy vows ? 
Or have they given to Pyrrhus Hector's Spouse ?" 


Then she with downcast look, and voice subdu'd ; 
"Thrice happy Virgin, thou of Priam's blood, 

Who, in the front of Troy by timely doom, 455 

Did'st pour out life before a hostile tomb ; 
And, slaughter'd thus, wert guarded from the wrong 
Of being swept by lot amid a helpless throng ! 
O happiest above all who ne'er did press 

A conquering Master's bed, in captive wretchedness! 460 

I, since our Ilium fell, have undergone 
(Wide waters cross'd) whate'er Achilles' Son 
Could in the arrogance of birth impose, 
And faced in servitude a Mother's throes. 

Hereafter, he at will the knot unty'd, 465 

To seek Hermione a Spartan Bride ; 
And me to Trojan Helenus he gave 
Captive to Captive if not Slave to Slave. 
Whereat, Orestes with strong love inflam'd 

Of her now lost whom as a bride he claim 'd, 470 

And by the Furies driv'n, in vengeful ire 
Smote Pyrrhus at the Altar of his Sire. 
He, by an unexpected blow, thus slain, 
On Helenus devolv'd a part of his Domain, 

Who call'd the neighbouring fields Chaonian ground, 475 

Chaonia named the Region wide around, 
From Trojan Chaon, chusing for the site 
Of a new Porgamus yon rocky height. 
But thee a Stranger in a land unknown 

What Fates have urg'd ? What winds have hither blown ? 480 
Or say what God upon our coasts hath thrown ? 
Survives the Boy Ascanius ? In his heart 
Doth his lost Mother still retain her part ? 
What, Son of great ^Eneas, brings he forth 

In emulation of his Father's worth ? 485 

In Priam's Grandchild doth not Hector raise 
High hopes to reach the virtue of past days ?" 

Then follow'd sobs and lamentations vain ; 
But from the City, with a numerous train, 

Her living Consort Helenus descends ; 490 

He saw, and gave glad greeting to his Friends ; 
And tow'rds his hospitable palace leads 
While passion interrupts the speech it feeds. 
As we advance I gratulate with joy 
Their dwindling Xanthus, and thoir little Troy ; 495 

470 bride] wife MS. 


Their Pergamus aspiring in proud state, \ 

As if it strove the old to emulate ; j 

And clasp the threshold of their Scaean Gate.) 

Nor fails this kindred City to excite 

In my Associates unreserv'd delight ; 500 

And soon in ample Porticos the King 

Receives the Band with earnest welcoming ; 

Amid the Hall high festival we hold, 

Refresh'd with viands serv'd in massy gold 

And from resplendent goblets, votive wine 505 

Flows in libations to the Powers divine. 

Two joyful days thus past, the southern breeze 
Once more invites my Fleet to trust the Seas ; 
To Helenus this suit I then prefer : 

"Illustrious Trojan! Heaven's interpreter! 510 

By prescient Phoebus with his spirit fill'd, 
SkilTd in the tripod, in the Laurel skill'd ; 
Skill'd in the stars, and what by voice or wing 
Birds to the intelligence of mortals bring ; 

Now mark: to Italy my course I bend \ 515 

Urged by the Gods who for this aim portend, > 
By every sign they give, a happy end. J 

The Harpy Queen, she only doth presage 
A curse of famine in its utmost rage ; 

Say thou what perils I am first to shun, 520 

What course for safe deliverance must be run ?" 

Then Helenus (the accustom'd Victims slain) 
Invoked the Gods their favour to obtain. 
This done, he loos'd the fillets from his head, \ 
And took my hand ; and, while a holy dread J 525 

Possess'd me, onward to the Temple led, J 
Thy Temple, Phoebus! from his lip then flow'd 
Communications "of the inspiring God. 
"No common auspices (this truth is plain) \ 

Conduct thee, Son of Venus ! o'er the Main ; J 530 

The high behests of Jove this course ordain J 
But, that with safer voyage thou may'st reach 
The Ausonian harbour, I will clothe in speech 
Some portion of the future ; Fate hath hung 

Clouds o'er the rest, or Juno binds my tongue. 535 

And first, that Italy, whose coasts appear, 
To thy too confident belief, so near, 
With havens open for thy sails, a wide 
And weary distance doth from thee divide. 
501 Soon in a spacious Portico MS. 


Trinacrian waves shall bend the pliant oar ; 54 

Thou, thro' Ausonian gulphs, a passage must explore, 

Trace the Circean Isle, the infernal Pool, 

Before thy City rise for stedfast rule. 

Now mark these Signs, and store them in thy mind ; \ 

When, anxiously reflecting, thou shalt find J 545 

A bulky Female of the bristly Kind J 

On a sequester 'd river's margin laid, 

Where Ilex branches do the ground o'ershade, 

With thirty young ones couch'd in that Recess, 

White as the pure white Dam whose teats they press, 550 

There found thy City ; on that soil shall close 

All thy solicitudes, in fixed repose. 

Nor dread Celaeno's threat, the Fates shall clear 

The way, and at thy call Apollo interfere. 

But shun those Lands where our Ionian sea 555 

Washes the nearest shores of Italy. 

On all the coasts malignant Greeks abide ; 

Narycian Locrians there a Town have fortified ; 

Idomeneus of Crete hath compassed round 

With soldiery the Sallentinian ground ; 560 

There, when Thessalian Philoctetes chose 

His resting-place, the small Petilia rose. 

And when, that sea past over, thou shalt stand 

Before the Altars, kindled on the strand, 

While to the Gods are offer'd up thy vows, 565 

Then in a purple veil enwrap thy brows, 

And sacrifice thus cover 'd, lest the sight 

Of any hostile face disturb the rite. 

Be this observance kept by thee and thine, 

And this to late posterity consign! 570 

But when by favouring breezes wafted o'er 

Thy Fleet approaches the Sicilian shore, 

And dense Pelorus gradually throws 

Its barriers open to invite thy prows, 

That passage shunn'd, thy course in safety keep 575 

By steering to the left, with ample sweep. 

" 'Tis said when heaving Earth of yore was rent 
This ground forsook the Hesperian Continent ; 
Nor doubt, that power to work such change might lie 
Within the grasp of dark Antiquity. 580 

543 stedfast] settled MS. 548 On ground which Ilex branches 

overshade MS. 552 Thy cares and labours in assured repose MS. 

554 . . . and Phoebus at thy call appear MS. 566 Then cast a purple 

amice o'er MS. 


Then flow'd the sea between, and, where the force 

Of roaring waves establish'd the divorce, 

Still, thro' the Straits, the narrow waters boil, 

Dissevering Town from Town, and soil from soil. 

Upon the right the dogs of Scylla fret ; 585 

The left by fell Charybdis is beset ; 

Thrice tow'rds the bottom of a vast abyss 

Down, headlong down the liquid precipice 

She sucks the whirling billows, and, as oft, 

Ejecting, sends them into air aloft. 59<> 

But Scylla, pent within her Cavern blind, 

Thrusts forth a visage of our human kind, 

And draws the Ship on rocks ; She, fair in show, 

A woman to the waist, is foul below ; 

A huge Sea-Beast with Dolphin tails, and bound 595 

With water Wolves and Dogs her middle round ! 

But Thou against this jeopardy provide 

Doubling Pachynus with a circuit wide ; 

Thus shapeless Scylla may be left unseen, 

Unheard the yelling of the brood marine. 600 

But, above all if Phoebus I revere 

Not unenlighten'd, an authentic Seer, 

Then, Goddess -born, (on this could I enlarge 

Repeating oft and oft the solemn charge) 

Adore imperial Juno, freely wait \ 605 

With gifts on Juno's Altar, supplicate > 

Her potent favour, and subdue her hate ; j 

So shalt thou seek, a Conqueror at last, 

The Italian shore, Trinacrian dangers past ! 

Arrived at Cumae and the sacred floods 610 

Of black Avernus resonant with woods, 

Thou shalt behold the Sybil where She sits \ 

Within her cave,* rapt in extatic fits, | 

And words and characters to leaves commits. J 

The prophecies which on those leaves the Maid 6x5 

Inscribes, are by her hands in order laid 

'Mid the secluded Cavern, where they fill 

Their several places, undisturb'd and still. 

But if a light wind entering thro' the door 

Scatter the thin leaves on the rocky floor, 620 

She to replace her prophecies will use 

No diligence ; all flutter where they chuse, 

In hopeless disconnection loose and wild ; 

608-9 So shalt thou reach (Sicilian limits past) 

The Italian shore, a conqueror at last. MS. D. W. 


And they, who sought for knowledge, thus beguiTd 

Of her predictions, from the cave depart, 625 

And quit the Sybil with a murmuring heart. 

But thou, albeit ill-dispos'd to wait, 

And prizing moments at their highest rate, 

Tho* Followers chide, and ever and anon 

The flattering winds invite thee to be gone, 630 

Beg of the moody Prophetess to break 

The silent air, and for thy guidance speak. 

She will disclose the features of thy doom, 

The Italian Nations, and the Wars to come ; 

How to escape from hardships, or endure, \ 635 

And make a happy termination sure ; > 

Enough chains bind the rest, or clouds obscure. J 

Go then, nor in thy glorious progress halt, 

But to the stars the Trojan name exalt!" 

So spake the friendly Seer, from hallow'd lips, 640 

Then orders sumptuous presents to the Ships ; 
Smooth ivory, massy gold, with ponderous store 
Of vasos fashion 'd from the paler ore ; 
And Dodonaean Cauldrons, nor withholds 

The golden halbork, knit in triple folds, 645 

That Neoptolemus erewhile had worn ; 
Nor his resplendent crest which waving plumes adorn. 
Rich offerings also grace my Father's hands ; 
Horses he adds with Equerries, and Bands 

Of Bowers, and supply of Arms commands. 650 

Meanwhile Anchisos bids the Fleet unbind 
Its sails for instant seizure of the wind. 
The Interpreter of Phoebus then address'd 
This gracious farewell to his ancient Guest ; 

"Anchises ! to celestial honors led, 655 

Beloved of Venus, whom she deign'd to wed, 
Care of the Gods, twice snatch'd from Ilium lost, 
Now for Ausonia be these waters cross'd! 
Yet must thou only glide along the shores 

To which I point ; far lies the Land from ours 660 

Whither Apollo's voice directs your powers: 
Go, happy Parent of a pious Son, 
No more I baulk the winds that press thee on." 

638-9 Go then ; and high as heaven's ethereal vault 

The Trojan name by glorious deeds exalt. MS. D. W. 
641 ... orders Presents to our parting Ships. MS, D. W. 659 Yet 

only hope to MS. D. W. 


Nor less Andromache, disturb 'd in heart 

That parting now, we must for ever part, 665 

Embroider'd Vests of golden thread bestows ; 

A Phrygian Tunic o'er Ascanius throws; 

And studious that her bounty may become 

The occasion, adds rich labours of the loom ; 

"Dear Child," she said, "these also, to be kept 670 

As the memorials of my hand, accept ! 

Last gifts of Hector's Consort, let them prove 

To thee the symbols of enduring love ; 

Take what Andromache at parting gives, 

Fair Boy! sole Image that for me survives 675 

Of my Astyanax, in whom his face, 

His eyes are seen, his very hands I trace ; 

And now, but for obstruction from the tomb, 

His years had open'd into kindred bloom." 

To these, while gushing tears bedew'd my cheek, 680 

Thus in the farewell moment did I speak : 

"Live happy Ye, whose race of fortune run \ 

Permits such life ; from trials undergone | 

We to the like are call'd, by you is quiet won. J 

No seas have Ye to measure, nor on you \ 685 

Is it impos'd Ausonia to pursue, J 

And search for fields still flying from the view. J 

Lo Xanthus here in miniature ! there stands 

A second Troy, the labour of your hands, 

With happier auspices in less degree 690 

Exposed, I trust, to Grecian enmity. 

If Tiber e'er receive me, and the sod 

Of Tiber's meadows by these feet be trod, 

If e'er I see our promis'd City rise, 

These neighbouring Nations bound by ancient ties 695 

Hesperian and Epirian, whose blood came 

From DardamiSf whose lot hath been the same, 

Shall make one Troy in spirit. May that care 

To our Descendants pass from heir to heir!" 

We coast the high Ceraunia, whence is found 700 

The shortest transit to Italian ground ; 

678-9 And his unfolding youth with thine kept pace MS. D. W. 
683-4 one peril if we shun 

*Tis but to meet a worse: by you is Quiet won. MS. D. W. 
688-9 Before your sight a mimic Xanthus flows ; 

By your own hands the Troy that guards you rose MS. D. W. 
694-5 If e'er our destined City I behold, 

Then neighbouring Towns, and Tribes akin of old MS. D. W. 


Meanwhile the sun went down, and shadows spread 

O'er every mountain dark'ned to its head. 

Tired of their oars the Men no sooner reach 

Earth's wish'd-for bosom than their limbs they stretch 705 

On the dry margin of the murmuring Deep, 

Where weariness is lost in timely sleep. 

Ere Night, whose Car the Hours had yok'd and rein'd, 

Black Night, the middle of her orbit gain'd, 

Up from his couch did Palinurus rise, ^ 710 

Looks to the wind for what it signifies, 1 

And to each breath of air a watchful ear applies. J 

Next all the Stars gliding thro' silent Heaven 

The Bears, Arcturus, and the cluster'd Seven, 

Are noted, and his ranging eyes behold 715 

Magnificent Orion arm'd in gold. 

When he perceives that all things low and high 

Unite to promise fix'd serenity, 

He sends the summons forth ; our Camp we raise, 

Are gone, and every Ship her broadest wings displays. 720 

Now, when Aurora redden *d in a sky } 

From which the Stars had vanish'd, we descry I 
The low faint hills of distant Italy. J 

* Italia!" shouts Achates; round and round \ 

"Italia" flies with gratulant rebound, > 7*5 

From all who see the coast, or hear the happy sound. J 
Not slow is Sire Anchises to entwine 
With wreaths a goblet, which he fill'd with wine, 
Then, on the Stern he took his lofty stand, 

And cried, "Ye Deities of sea and land 730 

Thro' whom the Storms are govern'd, speed our way 
By breezes docile to your kindliest sway!'* 
With freshening impulse breathe the wish'd-for gales, 
And, as the Ships press on with greedy sails, 

Opens the Port ; and, peering into sight, 735 

Minerva's Temple tops a craggy height. 
The Sails are furl'd by many a busy hand ; 
The veering prows are pointed to the Strand. 
Curved into semblance of a bow, the Haven 
Looks to the East ; but not a wave thence driven 740 

704-7 Eased of the oar, upon earth's wished-for breast 

We seek refreshment and prepare for rest MS. D. W. 
We press the bosom of the wished for land ; 
And, as we lay dispersed along the Strand, 
Our bodies we refresh and dewy sleep 
Fell upon weary limbs beside the lulling deep. MS. W.W. 
917.17 IV A a 


Disturbs its peacefulness ; their foamy spray 

Breaks upon jutting rocks that fence the Bay. 

Two towering cliffs extend with gradual fall 

Their arms into the Sea, and frame a wall 

In whose embrace the harbour hidden lies ; \ 745 

And, as its shelter deepens on our eyes, 1 

Back from the shore Minerva's Temple flies. J 

Four snow-white Horses, grazing the wide fields, 
Are the first omen which OUT landing yields ; 

Then Sire Anchises "War thy tokens bear 750 

O Hospitable land ! The Horse is arm'd for war ; 
War do these menace, but as Steed with Steed \ 
Oft joins in friendly yoke, the sight may breed > 
Fair hope that peace and concord will succeed." J 
To Pollas then in clanking armour mail'd, ^ 755 

Who hatt'd us first, exulting to be hail'd, 1 

Prayers we address with Phrygian amice veil'd ; J 
And, as by Helenus enjoin'd, the fire 
On Juno's Altar fumes to Juno vows aspire. 
When we had ceas'd this service to present 760 

That instant, seaward are our Sail -yards bent, 
And we forsake the Shore with cautious dread 
Of ground by Native Grecians tenanted. 

The Bay is quickly reach'd that draws its name \ 
From proud Tarentum, proud to share the fame ) 765 

Of Hercules tho' by a dubious claim: J 

Right opposite we ken the Structure holy 
Of the Lacinian Goddess rising slowly ; 
Next the Caulonian Citadel appear 'd 

And the Scylacian bay for Shipwrecks fear'd ; 770 

Lo, as along the open Main we float, 
Mount Etna, yet far off ! and far remote 
Groans of the Sea we hear ; deep groans and strokes 
Of angry billows beating upon rocks ; 

And hoarse surf -clamours, while the flood throws up 775 

Sands from the depths of its unsettled cup. 
My Sire exclaim'd, * 'Companions, we are caught 
By fell Charybdis, flee as ye were taught ; 
These, doubtless, are the rocks, the dangerous shores 
Which Helenus denounc'd away with straining oars." 780 

Quick, to the left the Master Galley veers 
With roaring prow, as Palinurus steers ; 
And for the left the bands of Rowers strive, 
While every help is caught that winds can give. 


The whirlpool's dizzy altitudes we scale, 785 

For ghastly sinking when the waters fail. 

The hollow rocks thrice gave a fearful cry ; \ 

Three times we saw the clashing waves fling high > 

Their foam dispers'd along a drizzling sky. J 

The flagging wind forsook us with the sun, 79 

And to Cyclopian shores a darkling course we run. 

The Port, which now we chance to enter, lies 
By winds unruffl'd tho' of ample size ; 
But all too near is Etna, thundering loud ; 

And ofttimes casting up a pitchy cloud 795 

Of smoke in whirling convolutions driven, 
With weight of hoary ashes, high as heaven, 
And globes of flame ; and sometimes he gives vent 
To rocky fragments, from his entrails rent ; 

And hurls out melting substances that fly 800 

In thick assemblage, and confound the sky ; 
While groans and lamentations burthensome 
Tell to the air from what a depth they come. 
The enormous Mass of Etna, so 'tis said, 

On lightening-scorch'd Enceladus was laid ; 805 

And ever pressing on the Giant's frame, 
Breathes out, from fractur'd chimneys, fitful flame, 
And, often as he turns his weary side \ 

Murmuring Trinacria trembles far and wide, J 

While wreaths of smoke ascend and all the welkin hide. J 810 

We, thro' the night, enwrapp'd in woods obscure, 
The shock of those dire prodigies endure, 
Nor could distinguish whence might come the sound ; 
For all the stars to ether's utmost bound 

Were hidden or bedimm'd, and Night withheld 815 

The Moon, in mist and lowering fogs conceal'd. 

[Desunt 11. 688-706] 

Those left, we harbour'd on the joyless coast 
Of Drepanum, here harass'd long and toss'd, 
And here my Sire Anchises did I lose, 

Help in my cares, and solace of my woes. 820 

Here, O best Father ! best beloved and best 
Didst thou desert me when I needed rest, 
Thou, from so many perils snatch'd in vain : 
Not Helenus, though much in doleful strain 

He prophesied, this sorrow did unfold, 825 

Not dire Celaeno this distress foretold. 
This trouble was my last ; Celestial Powers 
O Queen, have brought me to your friendly shores." 


Sole speaker, thus ^Bneas did relate 

To a hush'd audience the decrees of Fate, 830 

His wandering course remeasur'd, till the close 
Now reach 'd, in silence here he found repose. 

IV. 688-92 

SHE who to lift her heavy eyes had tried 
Faints while the deep wound gurgles at her side 
Thrice on her elbow propp'd she strove to uphold 
Her frame thrice back upon the couch was roll'd, 
Then with a wandering eye in heaven's blue round 
She sought the light and groaned when she had found. 

VIII. 337-66 

THIS scarcely utter'd they advance, and straight 
He shews the Altar and Carmental Gate, 
Which (such the record) by its Roman name 
Preserves the nymph Carmenta's ancient fame, 
Who first the glories of the Trojan line 5 

Predicted, and the noble Pallantine. 
Next points he out an ample sylvan shade 
Which Romulus a fit asylum made, 
Turns thence, and bids ^Eneas fix his eyes \ 

Where under a chill rock Lupercal lies 1 10 

Named from Lycaean Pan, in old Arcadian guise. J 
Nor left he unobserv'd the neighbouring wood 
Of sacred Argiletum, stained with blood. 
There Argos fell, his guest the story told 

To the Tarpeian Rock their way they hold 15 

And to the Capitol now bright with gold, 
In those far-distant times a spot forlorn 
With brambles choked and rough with savage thorn. 
Even then an influence of religious awe 

The rustics felt, subdued by what they saw, ao 

The local spirit creeping thro' their blood, 
Even then they fear'd the rocks, they trembled at the wood. 
"This grove (said he) this leaf-crown'd hill some God 
How nam'd we know not, takes for his abode, 
The Arcadians think that Jove himself aloft 35 

Hath here declared his presence oft and oft, 
Shaking his lurid JEgis in their sight 
And covering with fierce clouds the stormy height. 
Here also see two mouldering towns that lie 

Mournful remains of buried ancestry ; 30 

That Citadel did father Janus frame, 
And Saturn this, each bears the Founder's name. 


Conversing thus their onward course they bent 
To poor Evander's humble tenement ; 

Herds range the Roman Forum ; in the street 35 

Of proud Carinae bellowing herds they meet ; 
When they had reach'd the house, he said "This gate 
Conquering Alcides enter'd, his plain state 
This palace lodg'd ; O guest, like him forbear 
To frown on scanty means and homely fare ; 40 

Dare riches to despise ; with aim as high 
Mount thou, and train thyself for Deity. 

This said, thro' that low door he leads his guest, 

The great ^Eneas, to a couch of rest. 

There propp'd he lay on withered leaves, o'erspread 45 

With a bear's skin in Libyan desarts bred. 

GeorgicIV. 611-15 

Even so bewails, the Poplar groves among, 
Sad Philomela her evanished young ; 
Whom the harsh Rustic from the nest hath torn, 
An unfledged brood ; but on the bough forlorn 50 

She sits, in mournful darkness all night long ; 
Renews, and still renews, her doleful song, 
And fills the leafy grove, complaining of her wrong. 



(Poems to which no date of first printing is prefixed are here given for 

the first time) 


[Composed 1798 ?] 

AWAY, away, it is the air 

That stirs among the withered leaves ; 

Away, away, it is not there, 

Go, hunt among the harvest sheaves. 

There is a bed in shape as plain 5 

As from a hare or lion's lair 

It is the bed where we have lain 

In anguish and despair. 

Away, and take the eagle's eye, 

The tyger's smell, 10 

I. 6 lair] lare MS. 


Ears that can hear the agonies 

And murmurings of hell ; 

And when you there have stood 

By that same bed of pain, 

The groans are gone, the tears remain. 15 

Then tell me if the thing be clear, 

The difference betwixt a tear 

Of water and of blood. 



From The Prologue. 
[Translated December, 1801.] 
A MANCIPLE there was, one of a Temple 
Of whom all caterers might take example 
. Wisely to purchase stores, whatever the amount, 
Whether he paid, or took them on account. 
So well on every bargain did he wait, 5 

He was beforehand aye in good estate. 
Now is not that of God a full fair grace 
That one man's natural sense should so surpass 
The wisdom of a heap of learned men ? 

Of masters he had more than three times ten 10 

That were in law expert and curious, 
Of which there was a dozen in that house 
Fit to be steward over land and rent 
For any Lord in England, competent 

Each one to make him live upon his own 15 

In debtless honour, were his wits not flown ; 
Or sparely live, even to his heart's desire ; 
Men who would give good help to a whole Shire 
In every urgent case that might befal, 
Yet could this Manciple outwit them all. 20 


When Phoebus took delight on earth to dwell 
Among mankind, as ancient stories tell, 
He was the blithest bachelor, I trow, 
Of all this world, and the best archer too. 
He slew the serpent Python as he lay 5 

Sleeping against the sun upon a day, 

II. 8 mother- wit corr. to text MS. 13 All worthy to be stewards corr. to 
text MS. 


1-2 When Phoebus here below on earth did dwell 
As ancient histories to us do tell MS. 1 


And many another noble worthy deed 

Wrought with his bow as men the same may read. 

He played, all music played on earthly ground, 

And 'twas a melody to hear the sound 10 

Of his clear voice, so sweetly would he sing. 

Certes Amphion, that old Theban king 

Who walTd a city with his minstrelsy, 

Was never heard to sing so sweet as he. 

Therewith this Phoebus was the seemliest man 15 

That is or hath been since the world began. 

His features to describe I need not strive ; 

For in this world is none so fair alive. 

He was moreover, full of gentleness, 

Of honour and of perfect worthiness. 20 

This Phoebus flower in forest and in court, 
This comely Bachelor for his disport 
And eke in token of his victory earned 
Of Python, as is from the story learned, 
Was wont to carry in his hand a bow. 25 

Now had this Phoebus in his house a Crow 
Which in a cage he fostered many a day 
And taught to speak as men will teach a jay. 
White was this Crow as is a snow-white Swan, 
And counterfeit the speech of every man 30 

He could, when he had mind to tell a tale ; 
Besides, in all the world no Nightingale 
Could ring out of his heart so blithe a peal ; 
No, not a hundred thousandth part as well. 

Now had this Phoebus in his house a Wife 35 

Whom he loved better than he loved his life ; 
And, night and day, he strove with diligence 
To please her, and to do her reverence, 
Save only, for 'tis truth, the noble Elf 

Was jealous, and would keep her to himself. 40 

For he was loth a laughing stock to be, 
And so is every wight in like degree ; 
But all for nought, for it availeth nought, 
A good Wife that is pure in deed and thought 
Should not be kept in watch and ward, and, do 45 

The best you may, you cannot keep a Shrew. 
It will not be vain labour is it wholly ; 
Lordings, this hold I for an arrant folly 

36 And her he loved better than his life MS. 1 42 in like degree] 

as loth as he MS. 1 


Labour to waste in custody of wives ; 

And so old Clerks have written in their lives. 50 

But to my purpose as I first began. 
This worthy Phoebus doeth all he can 
To please her, weening that through such delight 
And of his government and manhood's right 
No man should ever put him from her grace, 55 

But Man's best plans, God knoweth, in no case 
Shall compass to constrain a thing which nature 
Hath naturally implanted in a creature. 

Take any bird and put it in a cage 

And wait upon this bird as nurse or page 60 

To feed it tenderly with meat and drink 
And every dainty whereof thou canst think, 
And also keep it cleanly as thou may ; 
Altho' the cage of gold be never so gay 
Yet hath the Bird by twenty thousand fold 65 

Rather in forest that is wild and cold 
Go feed on worms and such like wretchedness, 
For ever will this Bird do more or less 
To escape out of his cage whene'er he may ; 
His liberty the Bird desireth aye. 70 

Go take a Cat and nourish her with milk 
And tender flesh, and make her couch of silk, 
And let her see a mouse go by the wall, 
Anon she waiveth milk and flesh and all 
And every dainty which is in the house, 75 

Such appetite hath she to eat the mouse. 
Behold the domination here of kind, 
Appetite drives discretion from her mind. 

A she-wolf also in her kind is base ; 

Meets she the sorriest wolf in field or chase 80 

Him will "she take what matters his estate 
In time when she hath liking to a mate ? 

Examples all for men that are untrue. 
With women I have nothing now to do : 
For men have still a wayward appetite 85 

With lower things to seek for their delight 

54 of] for MS. 1 56 But no man in good truth in any case MS. 1 

60 And to this little bird thyself engage MS. 1 66 Lever MS. 1 

77-8 Lo ! here the domination of her kind, 

And appetite drives judgement from her mind. MS. 1 
85 wayward] liquorish corr. to froward MS. 1 86 seek for] accom- 

plish MS. 1 


Than with their wives, albeit women fair 

Never so true, never so debonnair. 

All flesh is so newfangled, plague upon't 

That are we pleased with aught on whose clear front 90 

Virtue is stampt, 'tis but for a brief while. 

This Phoebus, he that thought upon no guile, 
Deceived was for all his jollity ; 
For under him another one had she, 

One of small note and little thought upon, 95 

Nought worth to Phoebus in comparison. 
The more harm is, it happeneth often so 
Of which there cometh mickle harm and woe. 

And so befel as soon as Phoebus went 

From home, his wife hath for her lemman sent, 100 

Her Lemman, certes that's a knavish speech ; 
Forgive it me and that I you beseech. 

Plato the wise hath said, as ye may read, 
The word must needs be suited to the deed ; 
No doubtful meanings in a tale should lurk, 105 

The word must aye be cousin to the work ; 
I am a bold blunt man, I speak out plain 
There is no difference truly, not a grain, 
Between a wife that is of high degree 

(If of her body she dishonest be) no 

And every low -born wench no more than this 
(If it so be that both have done amiss) 
That, as the gentle is in state above, 
She shall be called his Lady and his Love 
And that the other a poor woman is 115 

She shall be called his harlot and his miss. 
And yet, in very truth, mine own dear brother, 
Men lay as low that one as lieth that other. 
Right so betwixt a haughty tyrant chief 
And a rough outlaw or an errant thief, 120 

90-2 That when we might be happy, then we won't, 
(That with plain virtue and her open front 
We can take pleasure only a short while deleted) 
But to my tale which I have left a while. 
This worthy Phoebus, thinking of no guile MS. 1 
94 one] choice MS. 1 
99100 . . . when Phoebus was from home 

His Wife anon hath bid her Lemman come MS. 1 
105-6 Tell a thing rightly, Englishman or Turk, 

In things told rightly no vague meanings lurk MS. 1 
107 bold blunt] boistrous MS. 1 117 in God's good truth MS. 1 

119 ... an outlaw, Robber chief, 

Untitled tyrant, and an errant thief MS. 1 


The same I say, no difference I hold, 

(To Alexander was this sentence told) 

But, for the Tyrant is of greater might 

By force of multitudes to slay downright 

And burn both house and home, and make all plain, 125 

Lo ! therefore Captain is he called ; again 

Since the other heads a scanty company 

And may not do so great a harm as he, 

Or lay upon the land such heavy grief 

Men christen him an Outlaw or a Thief. 130 

But I'm no man of texts and instances, 
Therefore I will not give you much of these 
But with my tale go on as I was bent. 

When Phoebus' wife had for her lemman sent 
In their loose dalliance they anon engage ; 135 

This white Crow, that hung alway in the cage, 
Beheld the shame, and did not say one word ; 
But soon as home was come Phoebus, the Lord, 
The Crow sang Cuckow, Cuckow, Cuckow, "How 
What! Bird", quoth Phoebus, "what song singst thou now, 
Wert thou not wont to sing as did rejoice 14* 

My inmost heart, so merrily thy voice 
Greeted my ear, alas, what song is this ?" 
"So help me Gods, I do not ^ing amiss, 
Phoebus," quoth he, " for all thy worthiness, 145 

For all thy beauty and all thy gentleness, 
For all thy song and all thy minstrelsy, 
For all thy waiting, hoodwinked is thine eye 
By one we know not whom, we know not what, 
A man to thee no better than a gnat, 150 

For I full plainly as I hope for life 
Saw him in guilty converse with thy wife." 

What would you more, the Crow when he him told 
By serious tokens and words stout and bold 
How that his wife had played a wanton game 155 

To his abasement, and exceeding shame, 

1334 I to my tale will go as I began. 

When Phoebus' wife had sent for her Lemman MS. 1 
135 They took their fill of love and lover's rage MS. 1 corr. to To love's 
delights themselves they did engage 
137 Beheld their work MS. 1 
141-3 Whilom thou wont so merrily to sing 

That to my heart it should great gladness bring 

To hear thy voice MS. 1 

144 By all the Saints MS. 1 156 Him to abase, and cover with great 

shame MS. 1 


And told him oft he saw it with his eyes, 

Then Phoebus turned away in woeful guise 

Him thought his heart would burst in two with sorrow, 

His bow he bent, and set therein an arrow, 160 

And in his anger he his wife did slay ; 

This is the effect, there is no more to say. 

For grief of which he brake his minstrelsy 

Both lute and harp, guitar and psaltery, 

And also brake his arrows and his bow 165 

And after that thus spake he to the Crow. 

"Thou Traitor! with thy scorpion tongue," quoth he, 
"To my confusion am I brought by thee. 
Why was I born, why have I yet a life 

O wife, O gem of pleasure, O dear wife, 170 

That wert to me so stedfast and so true, 
Now dead thou liest with face pale of hue 
Full innocent, that durst I swear, I wis. 
O thou rash hand that wrought so far amiss, 
O reckless outrage, O disordered wit 175 

That unadvised didst the guiltless smite, 
What in my false suspicion have I done, 
Why thro' mistrust was I thus wrought upon ? 

44 Let every Man beware and keep aloof 
From rashness, and trust only to strong proof; 180 

Smite not too soon before ye have learnt why, 
And be advised well and stedfastly, 
Ere ye to any execution bring 
Yourselves from wrath or surmise of a thing. 
Alas! A thousand folk hath ire laid low 185 

Fully undone and brought to utter woe, 
Alas for sorrow I myself will slay." 

And to the Crow, "O vile wretch," did he say, 
"Now will I thee requite for thy false tale. 
Whilom thou sang like any Nightingale, 190 

Henceforth, false thief, thy song from thee is gone 
And vanished thy white feathers, every one. 
In all thy life thou nevermore shalt speak 
Thus on a traitor I men's wrongs do wreak. 

159-60 Him thought his woeful heart would burst in two, 

His bow he took, an arrow forth he drew MS, 1 

174 thou rash] senseless MS. 1 178 Where was my wit? Why was 

I wrought upon ? MS. 1 180 From rashness trusting nought with- 

out . . . MS. 1 184 Yourselves upon your anger at the thing MS. 1 

187 sorrow] anger MS. 1 194 do I vengeance wreak MS. 1 


Thou and thy offspring ever shall be black, 195 

Never again sweet noises shall ye make, 

But ever cry against the storm and rain 

In token that through thee my Wife is slain." 

And to the Crow he sprang and that anon 
And plucking his white feathers left not one 200 

And made him black, and took from him his song, 
And eke his speech, and out of doors him flung 
Unto perdition, whither let him go 
And for this very reason, you must know, 
Black is the colour now of every Crow. 205 

Lordings, by this example you I pray 
Beware and take good heed of what you say, 
Nor ever tell a man in all your life 
That he hath got a false and slippery wife ; 
His deadly hatred till his life's last day 210 

You will provoke. Dan Solomon, Clerks say, 
For keeping well his tongue hath rules good store, 
But I'm no textman, as I said before, 
Nathless this teaching had I from my Dame. 
My son, think of the Crow in God's good name. 215 

My son, full often times hath mickle speech 
Brought many a man to ruin, as Clerks teach, 
But 'tis not often words bring harm to men 
Spoken advisedly, and now and then. 

My son be like the wise man who restrains 220 

His tongue at all times, save when taking pains 
To speak of God in honour, and in prayer. 
'Tis the first virtue, and the one most rare, 
My son, to keep the tongue with proper care. 
Wouldst thou be told what a rash tongue can do, 225 

Right as a sword cutteth an arm in two 
So can a tongue, my child, a friendship sever, 
Parted in two to be disjoined for ever. 
A babbler is to God abominable. 

Read Solomon so wise and honourable, 230 

Read Seneca, the Psalms of David read, 
Speak not, dear son, but beckon with thy head, 
Make show that thou wert deaf if any prater 
Do in thy hearing touch a perilous matter ; 

200 And stripp'd off his white feathers every one MS. 1 

203 perdition] the devil MS. 1 210 deadly] mortal MS. 1 

218 often] oft that MS. 1 229 babbler] Jangler MS. 1 


The Fleming taught, and learn it if thou list, 235 

That little babbling causeth mickle rest. 

My son, if thou no wicked word have said 

Then need'st thou have no fear to be betrayed, 

But who misspeaks, whatever may befal, 

Cannot by any means his word recal. 240 

Thing that is said, is said, goes forth anon, 

Howe'er we grieve repenting, it is gone, 

The tale-bearer's his slave to whom he said 

The thing for which he now is fitly paid. 

My son, beware, and be not Author new 245 

Of tidings, whether they bo false or true. 

Where'er thou travel, among high or low, 

Keep well thy tongue, and think upon the Crow. 


[Composed 1802.] 


I HAVE been here in the Moon -light, 
I have been here in the Day, 
I have been here in the Dark Night, 
And the Stream was still roaring away. 


These Chairs they have no words to utter, 
No fire is in the grate to stir or flutter, 
The cieling and floor are mute as a stone, 
My chamber is hush'd and still, 

And I am alone, 

Happy and alone. 

Oh who would be afraid of life, 

The passion the sorrow and the strife, 

When he may be 

Shelter'd so easily ? 
May lie in peace on his bed 
Happy as they who are dead. 

Half an hour afterwards 
I have thoughts that are fed by the sun. 
The things which I see 
Are welcome to me, w 
Welcome every one: 

239 But he that hath mis-said whate'er befal MS. 1 


I do not wish to lie 

Dead, dead, 
Dead without any company ; 

Here alone on my bed, 
With thoughts that are fed by the Sun, 
And hopes that are welcome every one, 

Happy am I. 

Life, there is about thee 
A deep delicious peace, 

1 would not be without thee, 

Stay, oh stay! 
Yet be thou ever as now, 

Sweetness and breath with the quiet of death, 
Be but thou ever as now, 

Peace, peace, peace. 


[Composed April 27-9, 1802. First printed in 1897.] 

WHO leads a happy life 

If it 's not the merry Tinker, 

Not too old to have a Wife ; 

Not too much a thinker ? 

Through the meadows, over stiles, 5 

Where there are no measured miles, 

Day by day he finds his way 

Among the lonely houses : 

Right before the Farmer's door 

Down he sits ; his brows he knits ; 10 

Then his hammer he rouzes ; 

Batter! batter! batter! 

He begins to clatter ; 

And^while the work is going on 

Right good ale he bouzes ; 15 

And, when it is done, away he is gone ; 

And, in his scarlet coat, 

With a merry note, 

He sings the sun to bed ; 

And, without making a pother, 20 

Finds some place or other 
For his own careless head. 

When in the woods the little fowls 

Begin their merry-making, 

Again the jolly Tinker bowls 25 

Forth with small leave-taking: 


Through the valley, up the hill ; 

He can't go wrong, go where he will: 

Tricks he has twenty, 

And pastimes in plenty ; 30 

He 's the terror of boys in the midst of their noise ; 

When the market Maiden, 

Bringing home her lading, 

Hath pass'd him in a nook, 

With his outlandish look, 35 

And visage grim and sooty, 

Bumming, bumming, bumming, 

What is that that's coming ? 

Silly maid as ever was ! 

She thinks that she and all she has 40 

Will be the Tinker's booty ; 

At the pretty Maiden's dread 

The Tinker shakes his head, 

Laughing, laughing, laughing, 

As if he would laugh himself dead. 45 

And thus, with work or none, 

The Tinker lives in fun, 

With a light soul to cover him ; 

And sorrow and care blow over him, 

Whether he 's up or a-bed. 50 


[Orlando Furioso, i. 5-14] 
[Translated November 1802.] 

ORLANDO who great length of time had been 

Enamour'd of the fair Angelica ; 

And left for her beyond the Indian sea, 

In Media, Tartary and lands between 

Infinite trophies to endure for aye, 5 

Now to the west with her had bent his way 

Where, underneath the lofty Pyrenees, 

With might of French and Germans, Charlemagne 

Had pitched his tents upon the open plain. 

To make Marsilius and king Agramont 10 

Each for his senseless daring smite his head, 
The one for having out of Afric led 
As many as could carry spear or lance, 
Th'other for pushing all Spain militant 


To overthrow the beauteous realm of France ; 15 

Thus in fit time Orlando reach'd the tents 
But of his coming quickly he repents. 

For there to him was his fair Lady lost, 

Taken away ! how frail our judgments are 

She who from western unto eastern coast 20 

[ Y with so long a war 

Was taken from him now 'mid such a band 

Of his own friends and in his native land, 

Not one sword drawn to help the thing or bar! 

'Twas the sage Emperor wishing much to slake 25 

A burning feud who did the Lady take. 

For quarrels had sprung lately and yet were 

Twixt Count Orlando and Rinaldo : wroth 

Were the two kinsmen, for that beauty rare 

With amorous desire had mov'd them both. 30 

The Emperor Charles who look'd with little favour 

On such contention, to make fast the aid 

The two Knights ow'd him, took away the Maid 

And to Duke Namo he in wardship gave her, 

Promising her to him who of the two, 35 

During that contest on that mighty day, 

The greatest host of Infidels should slay 

And most excelling feats in battle do ; 

But the baptiz'd, who look'd not for such fate, 

On that day's conflict fled their foes before ; 40 

The Duke a prisoner was with many more 

And the Pavillion was left desolate. 

Wherein, the Lady (as it were in thrall 

Remaining there to be the Victor's prize) 

Mounted, to meet such chance as might befall, 45 

Her courser, and at length away she flies. 

Presaging Fortune would the Christian faith 

Disown that day, into a wood she hies, 

Where she a knight on foot encountered hath 

Who was approaching on a narrow path. 50 

Helmet on head and cuirass on his back, 
Sword by his side and on his arm his shield, 
He ran more lightly on the forest track 
Than swain half naked racing in the field ; 

1 MS. defective. 


Never did Shepherdess when she hath spied 55 

A snake turn round so quickly in her fear 

As drew Angelica the rein aside 

When she beheld the knight approaching near. 

This was that doughty Paladin, the Son 

Of Amon Lord of Montalban in France, 60 

From whom his steed Bayardo, by strange chance, 

Had slipp'd not long before and loose had run. 

Soon as he to the Lady turn'd his eyes, 

Though distant, he that mien angelical 

And that fair countenance did recognize, 65 

Whereby his knightly heart was held in thrall. 

The affrighted Lady turn'd her Horse around 

And drove him with loose bridle through the wood, 

Nor e'er in rough or smooth did she take thought 

If safer way or better might be found ; 70 

But pale, and trembling, taking her of nought 

She left the horse to find what way he could ; 

Now up now down along the forest fast 

She drove, and to a river came at last. 

There was Ferr&no on the river brink 75 

All overspread with dust and faint with heat ; 

Who thither from the fight had come to drink 

And to repose himself in this retreat ; 

And there, though loth, he was compelled to stay ; 

His helmet, while with thirst he drank amain, 80 

Had slipp'd into the river where it lay, 

Nor could he yet recover it again. 


[Composed after 1802.] 

i. To the grove, the meadow, the Well 
I will go with the flock I love ; 
By the Well, in the meadow, the grove 
My Goddess will find with me 
Whatever shed or cell 
Shall to us a cover be 
That there with pleasure and glee 
Innocence will dwell. 

ii. The Swallow that hath lost 
His Mate and Lover 
Flies from coast to coast 
All the country over 
917.17 IV B b 


Nor finds rest on earth beneath him 
Pastime in heaven above : 
Chrystal fountain, sunny river 

Seeks no more, forsakes the daylight 
And in his lonesome life he ever 
Remembers his first love. 

iii. Oh bless'd all bliss above 
Innocent shepherdesses 
Whom in love no law distresses 
Who have no law but love, 
Could I as ye may do 
Who conceald adore him 
Tell what love I have for him 
Bless'd were I too 
All bliss above. 

iv. I will be that fond Mother 

Who her Babe doth threaten 
Yet is it never beaten 
Never at all. 

She lifts her hand to strike it 
But the blow intended 
By Love is suspended 
When it would fall. 

v. Gentle Zephyr 

If you pass her by 
Tell her you're a sigh 
But tell her not from whom. 
Limpid streamlet 
If you meet her ever 
Say with your best endeavour 
That swoln with tears you come 
But tell her not of whom. 



[Composed 1806 ? First printed in R. Duppa's Life of Michel Angela, 1807.] 
* * * * * 

AND sweet it is to see in summer time 

The daring goats upon a rocky hill 
Climb here and there, still browzing as they climb, 

While, far below, on rugged pipe and shrill 
The master vents his pain ; or homely rhyme 5 


He chaunts ; now changing place, now standing still ; 
While his beloved, cold of heart and stern ! 
Looks from the shade in sober unconcern. 

Nor less another sight do I admire, 

The rural family round their hut of clay ; 10 

Some spread the table, and some light the fire 

Beneath the household Rock, in open day ; 
The ass's colt with panniers some attire ; 

Some tend the bristly hogs with fondling play ; 
This with delighted heart the Old Man sees, 15 

Sits out of doors, and suns himself at ease. 

The outward image speaks the inner mind, 

Peace without hatred, which no care can fret ; 
Entire contentment in their plough they find, 

Nor home return until the sun be set: 20 

No bolts they have, their houses are resign'd 

To Fortune let her take what she can get: 
A hearty meal then crowns the happy day, 

And sound sleep follows on a bed of clay. 

In that condition Envy is unknown, 25 

And Haughtiness was never there a guest ; 
They only crave some meadow overgrown 

With herbage that is greener than the rest ; 
The plough's a sovereign treasure of their own ; 

The glittering share, the gem they dream the best ; 30 

A pair of panniers serve them for buffette ; 

Trenchers and porringers, for golden plate. 



[Composed 1806? First printed 1883.] 
Night Speaks. 

GBATEFUL is Sleep, my life in stone bound fast 
More grateful still : while wrong and shame shall last, 
On me can Time no happier state bestow 
Than to be left unconscious of the woe. 
Ah then, lest you awaken me, speak low. 

W. W. 

GBATBJFUL is Sleep, more grateful still to be 
Of marble ; for while shameless wrong and woe 
Prevail, 'tis best to neither hear nor see : 
Then wake me not, I pray you. Hush, speak low. 



[Translation of Latin Verses.] 

COME, gentle Sleep, Death's image tho' thou art, 
Come, share my couch, nor speedily depart ; 
How sweet thus living without life to lie, 
Thus without death how sweet it is to die. 



[Composed ? First printed 1896.] 

CAMOENS, he the accomplished and the good. 
Gave to thy fame a more illustrious flight 
Than that brave vessel, though she sailed so far ; 
Through him her course along the Austral flood 
Is known to all beneath the polar star, 
Through him the Antipodes in thy name delight. 


[Composed December 1804. First printed 1887.] 

No whimsy of the purse is here, 
No Pleasure-House forlorn, 
Use, comfort, do this roof endear ; 
A tributary Shed to chear 
The little Cottage that is near, 
To help it and adorn. 


[Composed 1805.] 

DISTRESSFUL gift ! this Book receives 

Upon its melancholy leaves, 

This poor ill-fated Book: 

I wrote, and when I reach'd the end 

Started to think that thou, my Friend, 

Upon the words which I had penn'd 

Must never, never look. 


Alas, alas, it is a Tale 

Of Thee thyself; fond heart and frail! 

The sadly -tuneful line 10 

The written words that seem to throng 

The dismal page, the sound, the song, 

The murmur all to thee belong, 

Too surely they are thine. 

And so I write what neither Thou 15 

Must look upon, nor others now, 

Their tears would flow too fast ; 

Some solace thus I strive to gain, 

Making a kind of secret chain, 

If so I may, betwixt us twain 20 

In memory of the past. 

Oft have I handled, often eyed, 

This volume with delight and pride, 

The written page and white ; 

Oft have I turn'd them o'er and o'er, 25 

One after one and score by score, 

All filFd or to be fill'd with store 

Of verse for his delight. 

He framed the Book which now I see, 

This book that rests upon my knee, 30 

He framed with dear intent ; 

To travel with him night and day, 

And hi his private hearing say 

Refreshing things, whatever way 

His weary Vessel went. 35 

And now upon the written leaf 

With heart oppress'd by pain and grief 

I look, but, gracious God, 

Oh grant that I may never find 

Worse matter or a heavier mind, 40 

Grant this, and let me be resign'd 

Beneath thy chast'ning rod. 

XI. 23 volume with delight] book with joyous glee S. H. 30 book that 
rests] very book S. H. 36 And] But S. H. 37-8 With . . . look etc.] 
I look indeed with pain and grief, I do S. H. 40/1 For those which 

yet remain behind 8. H. 



[Composed 1801-6. First printed 1897.] 

WHAT waste in the labour of Chariot and Steed ! 
For this came ye hither ? is this your delight ? 
There are twenty -four letters and these ye can read ; 
But Nature's ten thousand are Blanks in your sight. 
Then throw by your Books, and the study begin ; 
Or sleep, and be blameless, and wake at your Inn ! 


[Composed 1806. First printed 1897.] 

ORCHARD Pathway, to and fro, 
Ever with thee, did I go, 
Weaving Verses, a huge store ! 
These, and many hundreds more, 
And, in memory of the same 
This little lot shall bear Thy Name! 

[Composed March-April 1808.] 

PBESS'D with conflicting thoughts of love and fear 

I parted from thee, Friend, and took my way 

Through the great City, pacing with an eye 

Downcast, ear sleeping, and feet masterless 

That were sufficient guide unto themselves, 5 

And step by step went pensively. Now, mark ! 

Not how my trouble was entirely hush'd, 

(That might not be) but how, by sudden gift, 

Gift of Imagination's holy power, 

My Soul in her uneasiness received 10 

An anchor of stability. It chanced 

That while I thus was pacing, I raised up 

My heavy eyes and instantly beheld, 

Saw at a glance in that familiar spot 

A visionary scene a length of street 15 

Laid open in its morning quietness, 

Deep, hollow, unobstructed, vacant, smooth, 

And white with winter's purest white, as fair, 

As fresh and spotless as he ever sheds 

XIV. 3 pacing] walking MS. A 11 stability] security MS. A 


On field or mountain. Moving Form was none 20 

Save here and there a shadowy Passenger 

Slow, shadowy, silent, dusky, and beyond 

And high above this winding length of street, 

This moveless and unpeopled avenue, 

Pure, silent, solemn, beautiful, was seen 25 

The huge majestic Temple of St. Paul 

In awful sequestration, through a veil, 

Through its own sacred veil of falling snow. 


[Composed April 1808. Published September 1839.] 
(Taitfa Edinburgh Magazine) 

WHO weeps for strangers ? Many wept 

For George and Sarah Green ; 
Wept for that pair's unhappy fate, 

Whose grave may here be seen. 

By night, upon these stormy fells, 5 

Did wife and husband roam ; 
Six little ones at home had left, 

And could not find that home. 

For any dwelling-place of man 

As vainly did they seek. 10 

He perish 'd ; and a voice was heard 

The widow's lonely shriek. 

Not many steps, and she was left 

A body without life 
A few short steps were the chain that bound 15 

The husband to the wife. 

22 silent] soundless MS. A 24 moveless] noiseless MS. A 

XV. Title. Elegiac Stanzas composed in the Churchyard of Grasmere, West- 
morland, a few days after the Interment there of a Man and his Wife, 
Inhabitants of the Vale, who were lost upon the neighbouring Mountains, 
on the night of the 19th of March last. MS. 

5 fells] Heights MS. 7 at home] the Pair MS. 8 that] their MS. 

12/13 Down the dark precipice he fell, 

And she was left alone 

Not long to think of her Children dear, 

Not long to pray or groan! MS. 
13 A few wild steps, she too MS. 
15-16 The chain of but a few wild steps 

To the Husband bound the Wife. MS. 
16/17 Now lodge they in one Grave, this Grave 

A House with two -fold Roof, 

Two Hillocks but one Grave, their own. 

A covert tempest -proof. 


Now do those sternly -featured hills 

Look gently on this grave ; 
And quiet now are the depths of air, 

As a sea without a wave. 20 

But deeper lies the heart of peace 

In quiet more profound ; 
The heart of quietness is here 

Within this churchyard bound. 

And from all agony of mind 25 

It keeps them safe, and far 
From fear and grief, and from all need 

Of sun or guiding star. 

O darkness of the grave ! how deep, 

After that living night 30 

That last and dreary living one 

Of sorrow and affright ! 

sacred marriage-bed of death, 
That keeps them side by side 

In bond of peace, in bond of love, 35 

That may not be untied ! 

And from all agony of mind 

It keeps them safe and far ; 

From fear, and from all need of hope, 

From sun, or guiding Star. 

Our peace is of the immortal Soul, 
Our anguish is of clay ; 
Such bounty is in Heaven, so pass 
The bitterest pangs away. 

Three jdays did teach the Mother's Babe 

Forgetfully to rest 

In reconcilement how serene 1 

Upon another's breast. 

The trouble of the elder Brood 

1 know not that it stay'd 

So long they seiz'd their joy, and they 

Have sung, and danc'd, and play'd. MS. 

19 are the depths] is the depth MS. 22 quiet] shelter MS. 24 

bound] ground MS. 25-8 v. 16/17 (second stanza) 29 deep] 

calm MS. 34 keeps] holds MS. 35 peace . , . love] love . , . 

God MS. 




[Composed 1810. First printed by Grosart 1876.] 

TOBQTJATO TASSO rests within this tomb ; 
This figure weeping from her inmost heart 
Is Poesy ; from such impassioned grief 
Let every one conclude what this man was. 


[Composed 1818. First printed 1891.] 

THE Scottish Broom on Birdnest brae 

Twelve tedious years ago, 

When many plants strange Blossoms bore 

That puzzled high and low, 

A not unnatural longing felt, 5 

What longing would ye know ? 

Why, friend, to deck her supple twigs 

With yellow in full blow. 

To Lowther Castle she addressed 

A suit both bold and sly, 10 

(For all the Brooms on Birdnest brae 

Can talk and speechify) 

That flattering breezes blowing thence 

Their succour might supply, 

And she would instantly hang out 15 

A flag of yellow dye. 

But from the Castle's turrets blew 

A chill forbidding blast, 

Which the poor Broom no sooner felt 

Than she shrank up as fast ; 20 

Her wished -for yellow she forswore, 

And since that time has cast 

Fond looks on colours three or four 

And put forth Blue at last. 

But now, my friends, the Election comes 25 

In June's sunshiny hours, 

When every bush in field and brae 

Is clad with yellow flowers. 

While faction's Blue from shop and booth 

Tricks out her blustering powers, 30 

Lo ! smiling Nature's lavish hand 

Has furnished wreaths for ours. 

XVII. 27 every field>nd bank MS. 



[Composed 1818. First printed 1896.] 

IF money's slack, 

The shirt on my back 

Shall off, and go to the hammer ; 

Though I sell shirt and skin 

By Jove I'll be in, 

And raise up a radical clamor 1 


[Composed 1827. First printed 1896.] 


CBITICS, right honourable Bard, decree 
Laurels to some, a night -shade wreath to thee, 
Whose rtiuse a sure though late revenge hath ta'en 
Of harmless Abel's death, by murdering Cain. 


A German Haggis from receipt 
Of him who cooked the death of Abel, 
And sent "warm-reeking, rich" and sweet, 
From Venice to Sir Walter's table. 


(In Orasmere Church) 
[Composed 1822.] 

THESE vales were saddened with no common gloom 

When good Jemima perished in her bloom ; 

When (such the awful will of heaven) she died 

By flames breathed on her from her own fireside. 

On Earth we dimly see, and but in part 5 

We know, yet Faith sustains the sorrowing heart ; 

And she, the pure, the patient and the meek, 

Might have fit epitaph could feelings speak ; 

If words could tell and monuments record, 

How treasures lost are inwardly deplored, 10 

No name by Grief's fond eloquence adorn'd 

More than Jemima's would be praised and mourn'd. 

The tender virtues of her blameless life, 

Bright in the Daughter, brighter in the Wife, 

And in the cheerful Mother brightest shone, 15 

That light hath past away the will of God be done. 



[Composed 1824.] 

FIBST flowret of the year is that which shows 

Its rival whiteness 'mid surrounding snows ; 

To guide the shining Company of Heaven, 

Brightest as first, appears the star of Even ; 

Upon imperial brows the richest gem 5 

Stands ever foremost in the Diadem 

How then could mortal so unfit engage 

To take his Station in this leading page ? 

For others marshall with his pen the way 

Which shall be trod in many a future day ? to 

Why was not some fair Lady called to write 

Dear words for memory, "characters of light" ? 

Lines which enraptured fancy might explore 

And thence create her Image ? but no more ; 

Strangers ! forgive the deed, an unsought task, 15 

For what you look on Friendship deigned to ask. 


[Composed 1826. First printed 1896.] 

PRITHEE, gentle Lady, list 

To a small Ventriloquist : 

I whose pretty voice you hear 

From this paper speaking clear 

Have a Mother, once a Statue ! 5 

I, thus boldly looking at you, 

Do the name of Paphus bear, 

Famed Pygmalion's son and heir, 

By that wondrous marble wife 

That from Venus took her life. 10 

Cupid's nephew then am I, 

Nor unskilled his darts to ply ; 

But from him I crav'd no warrant 

Coming thus to seek my parent ; 

Not equipp'd with bow and quiver 15 

Her by menace to deliver, 

But resolv'd with filial care 

Her captivity to share. 

Hence, while on your Toilet, she 

Is doom'd a Pincushion to be, ao 


By her side I'll take my place, 

As a humble Needlecase 

Furnish'd too with dainty thread 

For a Sempstress thoroughbred. 

Then let both be kindly treated 25 

Till the Term for which she's fated 

Durance to sustain, be over: 

So will I ensure a Lover, 

Lady I to your heart's content ; \ 

But on harshness are you bent ? 1 30 

Bitterly shall you repent J 

When to Cyprus back I go 

And take up my Uncle's bow. 


[Composed 1826.] 

THE Lady whom you here behold 
Was once Pygmalion's Wife, 
He made her first from marble cold 
And Venus gave her life. 

When fate remov'd her from his arms 5 

Thro' sundry Forms she pass'd ; 

And conquering hearts by various charms 

This shape she took at last. 

We caught her, true tho' strange th' account, 
Among a troop of Fairies, 10 

Who nightly frisk on our green Mount 
And practise strange vagaries. 

Her raiment then was scant, so we 

Bestowed some pains upon her ; 

Part for the sake of decency 15 

And part to do her honour. 

But as, no doubt, 'twas for her sins 

We found her in such plight, 

She shall do penance stuck with pins 

And serve you day and night. 20 




[Composed ]826. First printed 1889.] 

THE doubt to which a wavering hope had clung 

Is fled ; we must depart, willing or not ; 

Sky -piercing Hills ! must bid farewell to you 

And all that ye look down upon with pride, 

With tenderness imbosom ; to your paths, 5 

And pleasant Dwellings, to familiar trees 

And wild -flowers known as well as if our hands 

Had tended them : and O pellucid Spring ! 

Insensibly the foretaste of this parting 

Hath ruled my steps, and seals me to thy side, 10 

Mindful that thou (ah ! wherefore by my Muse 

So long unthank'd) hast cheared a simple board 

With beverage pure as ever fix'd the choice 

Of Hermit, dubious where to scoop his cell ; 

Which Persian kings might envy ; and thy meek 15 

And gentle aspect oft has minister'd 

To finer uses. They for me must cease ; 

Days will pass on, the year, if years be given, 

Fade, and the moralizing mind derive 

No lesson from the presence of a Power 20 

By the inconstant nature we inherit 

Unmatched in delicate beneficence ; 

For neither unremitting rains avail 

To swell Thee into voice ; nor longest drought 

Thy bounty stints, nor can thy beauty mar, 25 

XXIV, 114 Pellucid Spring, unknown beyond the verge 

Of a small Hamlet, there, from ancient time 

Not undistinguished (for, [of ?] Wells that ooze 

Or Founts that gurgle from this cloud-capp'd hill, 

Their common Sire, thou only bear'st his name) 

One of my last fond looks is fix'd on Thee 

Who with the comforts of my simple board 

Hast blended, thro' the space of twice seven years, 

Beverage as choice as ever Hermit prized B 
8 and Thou, pellucid Spring corr. to text A 
8/9 Unheard of, save in one small hamlet, here 

Not undistinguish'd, for of Wells that ooze 

Or founts that gurgle from yon craggy Steep, 

Their common Sire, thou only bear'st his name. A, but marked 'out*. 
16 thy meek] whose pure B 20 thy Presence, Gracious Power, B 

24-36 . . . nor hottest drouth 

Can stint thy bounty, nor thy beauty mar. 


Beauty not therefore wanting change to please 

The fancy, for in spectacles unlook'd for, 

And transformations silently fulfill'd, 

What witchcraft, meek Enchantress, equals thine ? 

Not yet, perchance, translucent Spring, had tolFd 30 
The Norman curfew bell when human hands 
First offered help that the deficient rock 
Might overarch thee, from pernicious heat 
Defended, and appropriate to man's need. 
Such ties will not be sever'd : but, when We 35 

Are gone, what summer Loiterer, with regard 
Inquisitive, thy countenance will peruse, , 

Pleased to detect the dimpling stir of life, 
The breathing faculty with which thou yield 'st 
(Though a mere goblet to the careless eye) 40 

Boons inexhaustible ? Who, hurrying on 
With a step quicken'd by November's cold, 
Shall pause, the skill admiring that can work 
Upon thy chance -defilements wither 'd twigs 
That, lodg'd within thy crystal depths, seem bright, 45 
As if they from a silver tree had fallen ; 
And oaken leaves that, driv'n by whirling blasts, 
Sank down, and lay immers'd in dead repose 
For Time's invisible tooth to prey upon. 
Unsightly objects and uncoveted, 50 

Till thou with crystal bead -drops didst encrust 
Their skeletons, turned to brilliant ornaments. 
But, from thy bosom, would some venturous hand 
Abstract those gleaming Relics, and uplift them, 
However gently, tow'rd the vulgar air, 55 

At once their tender brightness disappears, 
Leaving the Intermeddler to upbraid 
His folly. Thus (I feel it while I speak), 
Thus, with the fibres of these thoughts it fares ; 

Such calm attraction have I found in thee, 

My private treasure, while the neighbouring stream 

Fam'd through the land for turbulent cascades 

Not seldom forfeits his dependent praise 

And disappoints the Stranger lured from far. 

Henceforth, what summer Loiterer etc. B 
26-7 ... to stir 

The fancy pleased by spectacles unlook'd for A (com to text) 
48 Have sunk, and lain B 
51-2 . . . with crust of liquid beads dost turn 

Their skeletons to etc. B 
53 covetous corr. to venturous A, B 


And oh ! how much, of all that love creates 60 

Or beautifies, like changes undergoes, 

Suffers like loss when drawn out of the soul, 

Its silent laboratory ! Words should say 

(Could they depict the marvels of thy cell) 

How often I have marked a plumy fern 65 

From the live rock with grace inimitable 

Bending its apex tow'rd a paler self 

Reflected all in perfect lineaments 

Shadow and substance kissing point to point 

In mutual stillness ; or, if some faint breeze 70 

Entering the cell gave restlessness to One, 

The Other, glass'd in thy unruffled breast, 

Partook of every motion, met, retired, 

And met again ; such playful sympathy, 

Such delicate caress as in the shape 75 

Of this green Plant had aptly recompens'd 

For baffled lips and disappointed arms 

And hopeless pangs, the Spirit of that Youth, 

The fair Narcissus by some pitying God 

Changed to a crimson Flower ; when he, whose pride 80 

Provoked a retribution too severe, 

Had pin'd ; upon his watery Duplicate 

Wasting that love the Nymphs implored in vain. 

Thus while my Fancy wanders, Thou, clear Spring, 
Mov'd (shall I say ?) like a dear Friend who meets 85 

A parting moment with her loveliest look, 
And seemingly her happiest, look so fair 
It frustrates its own purpose, and recals 
The griev'd One whom it meant to send away 
Dost tempt me by disclosures exquisite 90 

To linger, bending over Thee : for now, 
What witchcraft, mild enchantress, may with thee 

)2-9 Eager as one who on some pleasant day 

Peers from a headland searching the sea clouds 
For coming sails, or as an earnest child, 
While deaf to plaudits that proclaim the joy 
Of all around him, sits by some new charm 
Of scenic transmutation, wonder-bound. 
Where is thy earthy floor ? from keenest sight 
That obstacle is vanished ; and slant beams B 
) 2-1 17 B has another version of these lines: 

A subtler operation may withdraw 

From sight the solid floor that limited 

The nice communion, but that barrier gone 

Nought checks nor intercepts the downward shew 

Created for the moment, flowerets, plants, 

And the whole body of the wall they deck, 


Compare ! thy earthy bed a moment past 

Palpable unto sight as the dry ground, 

Eludes perception, not by rippling airs 95 

Concealed, nor through effect of some impure 

Upstirring ; but, abstracted by a charm 

Of thy own cunning, earth mysteriously 

From under thee hath vanished, and slant beams 

The silent inquest of a western Sun, 100 

Assisting, lucid Well-Spring ! Thou reveal'st 

Communion without check of herbs and flowers 

And the vault's hoary sides to which they clung, 

Imag'd in downward show ; the flower, the herbs, 

These not of earthly texture, and the vault 105 

Not there diminutive, but through a scale 

Of Vision less and less distinct, descending 

To gloom impenetrable. So (if truths 

The highest condescend to be set forth 

By processes minute), even so when thought no 

Wins help from something greater than herself 

Is the firm basis of habitual sense 

Supplanted, not for treacherous vacancy 

And blank dissociation from a world 

We love, but that the residues of flesh, 115 

Mirror'd, yet not too strictly, may refine 

To Spirit ; for the Idealizing Soul 

Time wears the features of Eternity ; 

And Nature deepens into Nature's God. 

Millions of kneeling Hindoos at this day 120 

Bow to the watery Element, adored 
In their vast Stream, and if an age hath been 
(As Books and haply votive Altars vouch) 
When British floods were worshipped, some faint trace 
Of that idolatry, through monkish rites 125 

Transmitted far as living memory, 

Reflected but not there diminutive, 

These of etherial texture, and thro* scale 

Of vision less and less distinct descending 

To gloom impenetrable. So in moods 

Of thought pervaded by supernal grace 

Is the firm base of ordinary sense 

Supplanted, and the residues of flesh 

Are linked with spirit, shallow life is lost 

In being; to the idealizing Soul . . . 
93 earthy] pebbly A com to text 

101 lucid Well-Spring] air propitious, B 108-10 truths . . . when] 

not in IB 112 firm basis] coarse texture A corr. to text 


Might wait on Thee, a silent Monitor, 

On thee, bright Spring, a bashful little-one, 

Yet to the measure of thy promises 

True, as the mightiest ; upon thee, sequestered 130 

For meditation, nor inopportune 

For social interest such as I have shared. 

Peace to the sober Matron who shall dip 

Her Pitcher here at early dawn, by me 

No longer greeted to the tottering Sire, 135 

For whom like service, now and then his choice, 

Relieves the tedious holiday of age 

Thoughts raised above the Earth while here he sits 

Feeding on sunshine to the blushing Girl 

Who here forgets her errand, nothing loth 140 

To be waylaid by her Betrothed, peace 

And pleasure sobered down to happiness ! 

But should these hills be ranged by one whose Soul 
Scorning love -whispers shrinks from love itself 
As Fancy's snare for female vanity, 145 

Here may the aspirant find a try sting -place 
For loftier intercourse. The Muses crowned 
With wreaths that have not faded to this Hour 
Sprung from high Jove, of sage Mnemosyne 
Enamour 'd, so the fable runs ; but they 150 

Certes were self-taught Damsels, scattered Births 
Of many a Grecian Vale, who sought not praise, 
And, heedless even of listeners, warbled out 
Their own emotions given to mountain air 
In notes which mountain echoes would take up 155 

Boldly, and bear away to softer life ; 
Hence deified as Sisters they were bound 
Together in a never-dying choir ; 
Who with their Hippocrene and grottoed fount 
Of Castaly, attest that Woman's heart 160 

Was in the limpid age of this stained world 
The most assured seat of [fine ecstasy,] 
And new-born waters, deemed the happiest source 
Of Inspiration for the conscious lyre. 

Lured by the crystal element in times 165 

Stormy and fierce, the Maid of Arc withdrew 
From human converse to frequent alone 
The Fountain of the Fairies. What to her, 

20-45 A page missing from B 162 The most rever'd seat of 

ne ecstasy. B 165-6 In harsher times the Maid of Arc would 

beal B 
917.17 IV C C 


Smooth summer dreams, old favors of the place, 

Pageant and revels of blithe Elves to her 170 

Whose country groan'd under a foreign scourge ? 

She pondered murmurs that attuned her ear 

For the reception of far other sounds 

Than their too -happy minstrelsy, a Voice 

Reached her with supernatural mandates charged 175 

More awful than the chambers of dark earth 

Have virtue to send forth. Upon the marge 

Of the benignant fountain, while she stood 

Gazing intensely, the translucent lymph 

Darkened beneath the shadow of her thoughts 180 

As if swift clouds swept over it, or caught 

War's tincture, mid the forest green and still, 

Turned into blood before her heart -sick eye. 

Erelong, forsaking all her natural haunts, 

All her accustomed offices and cares 185 

Relinquishing, but treasuring every law 

And grace of feminine humanity, 

The chosen Rustic urged a warlike Steed 

Tow'rd the beleaguer 'd city, in the might 

Of prophecy, accoutred to fulfil, 190 

At the sword's point, visions conceived in love. 

The cloud of Rooks descending through mid air 
Softens its evening uproar towards a close 
Near and more near ; for this protracted strain 
A warning not unwelcome. Fare thee well 195 

Emblem of equanimity and truth, 
Farewell if thy composure be not ours, 

169-70 Were the reputed doings of the Elves, 

Their merryment and revelries ; to her B 
173-9 . . . reception of a deeper voice 

And holier listenings, the translucent lapse B 
183-4 Then tinkled audibly the fairy fount, 

Till haply that mysterious voice again 

Roused her, and, from the injuries of France 

Sucking resentment, the moist eye took fire. 

Her outstretch'd arms, as if in midnight dreams, 

Petitioned the blank sir for spear and shield ; 

And her breast heaved, labouring beneath a soul 

Wild as the wind ; and, when the fit was past, 

Not less determin'd than a torrent stream 

That, having smooth'd its brow on some dread brink 

Drops headlong, resolute to find or make 

A Gulph of rest, deep as the height it falls from. B, but deleted 
184-6 Erelong, her lowly tasks and natural haunts 

Relinquishing B 


Yet as Thou still when we are gone wilt keep 

Thy living Chaplet of fresh flowers and fern, 

Cherished in shade tho' peeped at by the sun ; 200 

So shall our bosoms feel a covert growth 

Of grateful recollections, tribute due 

To thy obscure and modest attributes 

To thee, dear Spring, and all-sustaining Heaven ! 



[Composed 1828-9.] 

THAT gloomy cave, that gothic nich, 
Those trees that forward lean 
As if enamoured of the brook 
How soothing is the scene ! 

No witchery of inky words 

Can such illusions yield ; 

Yet all (ye Landscape Poets blush!) 

Was penned by Edmund Field. 


[Composed 1829? First printed 1889.] 

MY Lord and Lady Darlington, 

I would not speak in snarling tone ; 

Nor to you, good Lady Vane, 

Would I give a moment's pain ; 

Nor Miss Taylor, Captain Stamp, 5 

Would I your flights of memory cramp. 

Yet, having spent a summer's day 

On the green margin of Loch Tay, 

And doubled (prospect ever bettering) 

The mazy reaches of Loch Katerine, 10 

And more than once been free at Luss, 

Loch Lomond's beauties to discuss, 

And wished, at least, to hear the blarney 

Of the sly boatmen of Killarney, 

And dipped my hand in dancing wave 15 

Of Eau de Zurich, Lac Gen&ve, 

202/3 (Not less than to wide lake and foaming rill) B 


And bowed to many a major-domo 

On stately terraces of Como, 

And seen the Simplon's forehead hoary, 

Reclined on Lago Maggiore, 20 

At breathless eventide at rest 

On the broad water's placid breast, 

I, not insensible, Heaven knows, 

To all the charms this Station shows, 

Must tell you, Captain, Lord and Ladies, 25 

For honest worth one poet's trade is, 

That your praise appears to me 

Folly's own hyperbole. 


[Composed May, 1833. First printed 1885.] 

AVAUNT this oeconomic rage ! 

What would it bring ? an iron age, 

When Fact with heartless search explored 

Shall be Imagination's Lord, 

And sway with absolute controul 5 

The god-like Functions of the Soul. 

Not thus can Knowledge elevate 

Our Nature from her fallen state. 

With sober Reason Faith unites 

To vindicate the ideal rights 10 

Of Human -kind the true agreeing 

Of objects with internal seeing, 

Of effort with the end of Being. 


[Composed 1836. First printed 1889.] 

THE Ball whizz'd by, it grazed his ear, 

And whispered as it flew, 
'I only touch not take don't fear, 
For both, my honest Buccaneer ! 

Are to the Pillory due.' 



[Composed March 1838. First printed 1889.] 

SAID red-ribbon'd Evans: 

"My legions in Spain 

Were at sixes and sevens ; 

Now they're famished or slain ! 

But no fault of mine, 5 

For, like brave Philip Sidney, 

In campaigning I shine, 

A true Knight of his Kidney. 

Sound flogging and fighting 

No Chief, on my troth, 10 

E'er took such delight in 

As I in them both. 

Fontarabbia can tell 

How my eyes watched the foe, 

Hernani knows well 15 

That our feet were not slow ; 

Our hospitals, too, 

They are matchless in story ; 

Where her thousands Fate slew, 

All panting for glory." 20 

Alas for this Hero ! 

His fame touched the skies, 

Then fell below Zero, 

Never, never to rise ! 

For him to Westminster 25 

Did Prudence convey, 

There safe as a Spinster 

The Patriot to play. 

But why be so glib on 

His feats, or his fall ? 30 

He 's got his red ribbon, 

And laughs at us all. 


[Composed 1838. First printed 1851.] 

WOULDST thou be gathered to Christ's chosen flock, 
Shun the broad way too easily explored, 
And let thy path be hewn out of the Rock, 
The living Rock of God's eternal Word. 

XXX. 2 way] path MS. 

3-4 And hew thy way from out the living Rock, 

Established upon Earth, the eternal Word. MS. 



[Composed 1841 ?] 

LET more ambitious Poets take the heart 

By storm, my Verse would rather win its way 

With gentle violence into minds well pleased 

To give it welcome with a prompt return 

Of their own sweetness, as March flowers that shrink 5 

From the sharp wind do readily yield up 

Their choicest fragrance to a southern breeze, 

Ruffling their bosoms with its genial breath. 

[Composed 1841 ?] 

A PBIZED memorial this slight work may prove 
As bought in charity and given in Love. 


THOUGH Pulpits and the Desk may fail 
To reach the hearts of worldly men ; 
Yet may the grace of God prevail 
And touch them through the Poet's pen. 

BATH, April 2Sth, 1841. 


[Composed 1842 ? -Published 1842.] 

SHADE of Caractacus, if spirits love 

The cause they fought for in their earthly home, 

To see the Eagle ruffled by the Dove 

May soothe thy memory of the chains of Rome. 

These children claim thee for their sire ; the breath 5 

Of thy renown, from Cambrian mountains, fans 
A flame within them that despises death 
And glorifies the truant youth of Vannes. 

With thy own scorn of tyrants they advance, 

But truth divine has sanctified their rage, 10 

A silver cross enchased with Flowers of France 

Their badge, attests the holy fight they wage. 

XXXI. 3-5 By gentle force into the Mind that yields 

With glad compliance, as March flowers that shrink 1st draft 
6 sharp . . . yield up] fierce . . . give out 1st draft 7 choicest] 

sweetest let draft 


The shrill defiance of the young crusade 

Their veteran foes mock as an idle noise ; 

But unto Faith and Loyalty conies aid 15 

From Heaven, gigantic force to beardless boys. 



[Composed January 9, 1846. First printed 1876.] 

DEIGN, Sovereign Mistress ! to accept a lay, 

No laureate offering of elaborate art ; 
But salutation taking its glad way 

From deep recesses of a loyal heart. 

Queen, Wife and Mother! may All -judging Heaven 5 

Shower with a bounteous hand on Thee and Thine 

Felicity that only can be given 

On earth to goodness blest by grace divine. 

Lady ! devoutly honoured and beloved 

Through every realm confided to thy sway ; 10 

May'st thou pursue thy course by God approved, 

And He will teach thy people to obey. 

As thou art wont, thy sovereignty adorn 

With woman's gentleness, yet firm and staid ; 

So shall that earthly crown thy brows have worn 15 

Be changed for one whose glory cannot fade. 

And now by duty urged, I lay this Book 

Before thy Majesty, in humble trust 
That on its simplest pages thou wilt look 

With a benign indulgence more than just. 20 

Nor wilt thou blame the Poet's earnest prayer 
That issuing hence may steal into thy mind 

Some solace under weight of royal care, 
Or grief the inheritance of humankind. 

For know we not that from celestial spheres, 25 

When Time was young, an inspiration came 
(Oh were it mine!) to hallow saddest tears, 
And help life onward in its noblest aim. 

your Majesty's 

devoted Subject and Servant 
William Wordsworth 






[Composed 1847. Published 1847.] 

FOB thirst of power that Heaven disowns, 

For temples, towers, and thrones 
Too long insulted by the Spoiler's shock, 

Indignant Europe cast 

Her stormy foe at last 5 

To reap the whirlwind on a Libyan rock. 

War is passion's basest game 
4 Madly played to win a name : 
Up starts some tyrant, Earth and Heaven to dare, 

The servile million bow ; 10 

But will the Lightning glance aside to spare 

The Despot's laurelled brow ? 

War is mercy, glory, fame, 

Waged in Freedom's holy cause, 

Freedom, such as man may claim 15 

Under God's restraining laws. 

Such is Albion's fame and glory, 

Let rescued Europe tell the story. 
But lo ! what sudden cloud has darkened all 

The land as with a funeral pall ? ao 

The Rose of England suffers blight, 
The Flower has drooped, the Isle's delight ; 

Flower and bud together fall ; 
A Nation's Jiopes lie crushed in Claremont's desolate Hall. 

Time a chequered mantle wears 25 

Earth awakes from wintry sleep : 
Again the Tree a blossom bears ; 

Cease, Britannia, cease to weep I 
Hark to the peals on this bright May -morn ! 
They tell that your future Queen is born. 30 

A Guardian Angel fluttered 

Above the babe, unseen ; 

One word he softly uttered, 

It named the future Queen ; 


And a joyful cry through the Island rang, 35 

As clear and bold as the trumpet's clang, 

As bland as the reed of peace : 
"VICTORIA be her name!" 

For righteous triumphs are the base 
Whereon Britannia rests her peaceful fame. 40 

Time, in his mantle's sunniest fold 
Uplifted in his arms the child, 
And while the fearless infant smiled, 
Her happier destiny foretold: 

"Infancy, by Wisdom mild, 45 

Trained to health and artless beauty ; 

Youth, by pleasure unbeguiled 

From the lore of lofty duty ; 

Womanhood in pure renown, 

Seated on her lineal throne ; 50 

Leaves of myrtle in her Crown, 

Fresh with lustre all their own. 

Love, the treasure worth possessing 

More than all the world beside, 

This shall be her choicest blessing, 55 

Oft to royal hearts denied." 

That eve, the Star of Brunswick shone 

With steadfast ray benign 
On Gotha's ducal roof, and on 

The softly flowing Leine, 60 

Nor failed to gild the spires of Bonn, 

And glittered on tho Rhine. 
Old Camus, too, on that prophetic night 

Was conscious of the ray ; 
And his willows whispered in its light, 65 

Not to the Zephyr's sway, 
But with a Delphic life, in sight 

Of this auspicious day 
This day, when Granta hails her chosen Lord, 

And, proud of her award, 70 

Confiding in that Star serene, 
Welcomes the Consort of a happy Queen. 

Prince, in these collegiate bowers, 

Where science, leagued with holier truth, 

Guards the sacred heart of youth, 75 

Solemn monitors are ours. 


These reverend aisles, these hallowed towers, 
Raised by many a hand august, 
Are haunted by majestic Powers, 

The Memories of the Wise and Just, 80 

Who, faithful to a pious trust, 
Here, in the Founder's Spirit sought 
To mould and stamp the ore of thought 
In that bold form and impress high 

That best betoken patriot loyalty. 85 

Not in vain those Sages taught, 
True disciples, good as great, 
Have pondered here their country's weal, 
Weighed the Future by the Past, 

Learned how social frames may last, 90 

And how a Land may rule its fate 
By constancy inviolate, 
Though worlds to their foundations reel 
The sport of factious Hate or godless Zeal. 

Albert, in thy race we cherish 95 

A Nation's strength that will not perish 

While England's sceptred Line 

True to the King of Kings is found ; 

Like that wise ancestor of thine 

Who threw the Saxon shield o'er Luther's life 100 

When first, above the yells of bigot strife, 

The trumpet of the Living Word 
Assumed a voice of deep portentous sound, 
From gladdened Elbe to startled Tiber heard. 

What shield more sublime 105 

E'er was blazoned or sung ? 

And the PRINCE whom we greet 

From its Hero is sprung. 

Resound, resound the strain 

That hailg him for our own! no 

Again, again, and yet again, 
For the Church, the State, the Throne! 
And that Presence fair and bright, 
Ever blest wherever seen, 

Who deigns to grace our festal rite, 115 

The Pride of the Islands, VICTORIA THE QUEEN! 



The first eight of these Poems were printed, under this title, in 
Yarrow Revisited and other Poems (1835). Only one of them (No. 
VIII) had appeared before. To these was added a ninth, never re- 
printed, on which v. note to No. VIII infra. Nos. IX, XII, and XIII 
were added to the series in 1837, Nos. X and XI in 1845, and the rest 
in 1850. 

p. 1. I. It will be noted, from the app. crit. 9 that the first version 
of the poem (a fair copy written by Dora W.) was much shorter. The 
added lines W. wrote several times in one copy of them, after 11. 20, 
21 in their final form, occurs the couplet: 

While the Rooks homeward wend, compact yet spread, 
Like a large cloud they cross the mountain's head. 

lines were composed on the road between Moresby and Whitehaven 
while I was on a visit to my Son, then Rector of the former place. 
This [and some other Voluntaries] originated in the concluding lines 
of the last paragraph of this Poem. With this coast I have been 
familiar from my earliest childhood, and remember being struck for 
the first time by the town and port of Whitehaven, and the white 
waves breaking against its quays and piers, as the whole came into 
view from the top of the high ground down which the road (it has 
since been altered) then descended abruptly. My sister, when she 
first heard the voice of the sea from this point, and beheld the scene 
spread before her, burst into tears. Our family then lived at Cocker- 
mouth, and this fact was often mentioned among us as indicating the 
sensibility for which she was so remarkable." I. F. 

p. 3. III. BY THE SEASIDE: The statement in the MS. that the 
poem was written at Moresby after a storm enables us to date it 
March-April, for in March 1833 W. was on a visit to his son there 
(v. L.Y., pp. 644-7). 

39. "our thoughts are heard in heaven": From Young, Night 
Thoughts* ii. 95. 

p. 4. IV. Not in the lucid intervals of life: "The lines following 
'nor do words' [1. 7] were written with Lord Byron's character, as a 
Poet, before me, and that of others, his contemporaries, who wrote 
under like influences." I. F. 

It will be noted that in the first version (MS. 1) of the poem there is 
nothing to correspond with 11. 719. 

17-23. O Nature . . . pensive hearts . . . every charm] Reminiscent 
of Burns, To William Simpson, xiii, xiv: cf. especially the couplet 
O Nature, a 1 thy shows an' forms 
To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms, 

396 NOTES 

which W. quotes in his letter on the Kendal and Windermere Railway 
(Grosart, ii. 331). 

20-31. app. crit. v. note to VII, infra. 

p. 7. VI. 1-4. Soft as a cloud : What looks like a first draft of 
these lines occurs in a MS. among other scraps: 

No cloud seems softer than yon pale blue hill, 
The gleaming waters how profoundly still 

p. 8. VII. The leaves that rustled on this oak-crowned hill: "Com- 
posed by the side of Grasmere Lake. The mountains that enclose 
the vale, especially towards Easedale, are most favourable to the re- 
verberation of sound. There is a passage in The Excursion, towards 
the close of the fourth Book, where the voice of the raven in flight 
is traced through the modifications it undergoes, as I have often heard 
it in that vale and others of this district. 

'Often, at the hour 

When issue forth the first pale stars, is heard, 

Within the circuit of this fabric huge 

One voice the solitary raven.' " I. F. 

1-13. In one MS. these lines form the first part of a poem headed 
Twilight, of which the last lines are a first draft of IV, supra, 11. 20-31 ; 
v. app. crit. 

p. 9. VIII. The sun has long been set: In 1807 one of the Moods of 
my own Mind. W. (edd. 1845, 1850) misdated the poem 1804, the 
correct date is given in D. W.'s Journals. "Keprinted at the request 
of my Sister, in whose presence the lines were thrown off." I. F. In 
1836 the note prefixed to this poem ran: "The former of the two 
following Pieces appeared, many years ago, among the Author's 
poems, from which, in subsequent editions, it was excluded. It is 
here reprinted, at the request of a friend who was present when the 
lines were thrown off as an impromptu. 

"For printing the latter, some reason should be given, as not a word 
of it is original : it is simply a fine stanza of Akenside, connected with 
a still finer from Beattie, by a couplet of Thomson. This practice, 
in which the author sometimes indulges, of linking together, in his 
own mind, favourite passages from different authors, seems in itself 
unobjectionable: but, as the publishing such compilations might lead 
to confusion in literature, he should deem himself inexcusable in 
giving this specimen, were it not from a hope that it might open to 
others a harmless source of private gratification." 

The poem referred to, not republished after the 1835 ed., ran: 

Throned in the Sun's descending car 

What Power unseen diffuses far 

This tenderness of mind ? 

What Genius smiles on yonder flood ? 

What God in whispers from the wood 5 

Bids every thought be kind ? 

NOTES 397 

O ever pleasing Solitude, 
Companion of the wise and good, 
Thy shades, thy silence, now be mine, 

Thy charms my only theme ; 10 

My haunt the hollow cliff whose Pine 

Waves o'er the gloomy stream ; 
Whence the scared Owl on pinions grey 

Breaks from the rustling boughs, 
And down the lone vale sails away 15 

To more profound repose ! 

11. 1-6 are from Akenside's Ode Against Suspicion, viii ; 11. 7, 8 from 
the opening of Thomson's Hymn on Solitude, 1, 2; 11. 9-16 from 
Beattie's Retirement : , 41-8. All three passages are included in the 
Poems and Extracts chosen by W. W. for an Album presented to Lady 
Mary Lowther, Christmas , 1819. 

10-11. "Parading" . . . ' 'masquerading"] From Burns, The Two 
Dogs, 124-5: 

At operas an' plays parading 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading. 

13/14. app. crit. W. used the last two of these lines in IV, supra, 
11. 20, 21. 

SPLENDOUR AND BEAUTY: "Felt and in a great measure composed 
upon the little mount in front of our abode at Rydal. In concluding 
my notices of this class of Poems it may be as well to observe that 
among the 'Miscellaneous Sonnets' are a few alluding to morning 
impressions which might be read with mutual benefit in connection 
with these 'Evening Voluntaries'. See, for example, that one on 
Westminster Bridge, that 1st on May, 2nd on the song of the Thrush, 
and the one beginning 'While beams of orient light etc.' " I. F. 
Before 1837 this poem was placed among Poems of the Imagination. 

49, Wings at my shoulder seemed to play] In these lines I am under 
obligation to the exquisite picture of "Jacob's Dream", by Mr. 
Alstone, now in America. It is pleasant to make this public acknow- 
ledgment to a man of genius, whom I have the honour to rank among 
my friends. W. 

p. 13. X. COMPOSED BY THE SEASHOBE: "These lines were sug- 
gested during my residence under my Son's roof at Moresby, on the 
coast near Whitehaven, at the time when I was composing those 
verses among the 'Evening Voluntaries' that have reference to the 
sea. It was in that neighbourhood I first became acquainted with 
the ocean and its appearances and movements. My infancy and early 
childhood were passed at Cockermouth, about eight miles from the 
coast, and I well remember that mysterious awe with which I used 
to listen to anything said about storms and shipwrecks. Sea-shells 

398 NOTES 

of many descriptions were common in the town ; and I was not a 
little surprised when I heard that Mr. Landor had denounced me as 
a plagiarist from himself for having described a boy applying a sea- 
shell to his ear and listening to it for intimations of what was going 
on in its native element. This I had done myself scores of times, and 
it was a belief among us that we could know from the sound whether 
the tide was ebbing or flowing." I. F. Cf. note to III, supra. 

p. 14. XI. The Crescent Moon, etc.: The date of composition is 
given on the MS. 

p. 14. XII. To THE MOON : An early draft is preserved in the Crabb 
Robinson Collection at Dr. Williams 's Library, of which the following 
is a transcription : 

What fond affections on the name attend 

Which calls thee, gentle Moon ! the Sailor's Friend ! 

So calls thee not alone for what the sky 

Through mist or cloud permits thee to supply 

(As from a moving watchtower) of wan light 5 

To guide his Bark through perils of the night, 

But for thy private bounties ; for that meek 

And tender influence of which few will speak 

Though it can wet with tears the hardiest cheek. 

Say, is there One (Breathes there a Man) of all whose business lies 

On the great deep cut off (waters far) from household ties, n 

A Man endowed with human sympathies, 

Who has not felt the fulness of thy sway 

To cherish thoughts that shun the blaze of day, 

The soft (true) accordance of thy placid chear 15 

With all that pensive memory holds most dear 

Or Fancy pictures forth to soothe a breast 

(That asks not happiness but longs for rest !) 

Tired with its daily share of eaprth's unrest ?] 

And [? as] the lifelong wanderer o*er the seas 20 

Steers his [?] ship (Runs a smooth course) before a steady breeze 

While he keeps watch in some far distant clime, 

Dull darkness (Thy absence) adding to the weight of time, 

Oft. does thy image with his memory blend 

And thou art still, O Moon, the Sailor's (Poet's) Friend. 25 

Who when he marks thee bright as when of yore 

Whole nations knelt thy presence to adore 

Beholds the[e] (girt) crossed by clouds that slowly move 

Catching the lustre they in part reprove 

Nor felt the fitness of thy modest sway 30 

To cherish the thought that shuns the blaze of day. 

1-2 Cf. XII. 11-12 6-7 Cf. ib. 16-17 16-18, 29-30 ib. 66-9 

24-6 ib. 70-3 26-7 Cf. app. crit. of XIII. 1-4 28-9 Cf. 

XII. 36-6 

NOTES 399 

1011. on this sea -beat shore Sole -sitting] Of. Poems on Naming 
of Places, iv. 38. Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance. 

63-4. And when thy beauty . . . monthly grave] Cf. Written in a 
Orotto, 4, "When thou art hidden in thy monthly grave," and note 
Vol. Ill, pp. 413 and 575. 

K. gives some lines as "written by W. in a copy of his works after 
the lines To the Moon, XIII. They may have been intended as a 
sequel to them": 

And O dear soother of the pensive breast, 

Let homelier words without offence attest 

How where on random topics as they hit 

The moment's humour, rough Tars spend their wit, 

Thy changes, which to wiser Spirits seem 5 

Dark as a riddle, prove a favorite theme ; 

Thy motions intricate and manifold 

Oft help to make bold fancy's flights more bold, 

Beget strange theories and to freaks give birth 

Of speech as wild as ever heightened mirth. 10 

The lines are to be found in C., Lord Coleridge's copy of Wordsworth's 
Poems 1836, written by M. W. in the blank space after XIII To the 
Moon, but clearly intended by the tally -mark to follow the close of 

p. 16. XIII. To THE MOON (RYDAL) : The variant of 11. 1-4, given 
in the app. crit., is a passage deleted from the draft of the previous 
poem (v. supra). 

50. To look on tempests, etc.] Shakespeare, Sonnete, cxvi. 6. 

p. 18. XIV. To LUCCA GIORDANO: Lucca Giordano (1632-1705) 
of Naples, one of the most prolific of artists, of no originality, but 
great imitative and mechanical skill. The picture, brought by the 
poet's eldest son from Italy, hung on the staircase at Rydal Mount, 
v. M. I. 28. 

p. 18. XIV and XV. The dates of these sonnets are given on the 

p. 19. XVI. Where lies the truth, etc.] Suggested, as W. told Pro- 
fessor Reed in a letter dated Jan. 23, 1846 (v. M. ii. 423), by the 
deaths of his grandson and his nephew John, and the imminent death 
of his brother Christopher. 

7-8. Larks . . . bid the Sun good morrow] An obvious reminiscence 
of L* Allegro, 41, 46. 


In Yarrow Revisited (1835), in which this series was first printed, 
Nos. XI and XL VI were placed in another part of the volume, and 
XXVII and XLIII, which had been published in the 1827 ed., were 

400 NOTES 

omitted. Fancy and Tradition (VoL III, p. 277), originally XXXVI 
of the series, was in 1837 transferred to its present place. "My 
companions were H. C. Robinson and my son John." I. F. 

p. 20. II. 3-8. Cf. Guide to the Lakes (ed. E. de S.), p. 74: "Anti- 
quity . . . may be styled the co -partner or sister of Nature ... I have 
already spoken of the beautiful forms of the ancient mansions of this 
country, and of the happy manner in which they harmonize with the 
forms of Nature." For W.'s ideas about the laying-out of grounds cf. 
his letter to Sir G. Beaumont, E. L., p. 522. 

14. The final reading was adopted on the suggestion of Barron 
Field in a letter dated Nov. 21, 1839. 

p. 21. IV. To THE RIVEB GBETA: 7. But if thou, like Cocytus] 
Many years ago, when I was at Greta Bridge, in Yorkshire, the 
hostess of the inn, proud of her skill in etymology, said that "the 
name of the river was taken from the bridge t the form of which, as 
every one must notice, exactly resembled a great A". Dr. Whitaker 
has derived it from the word of common occurrence in the North of 
England, "to greet"; signifying to lament aloud, mostly with weeping, 
a conjecture rendered more probable from the stony and rocky 
channel of both the Cumberland and Yorkshire rivers. The Cumber- 
land Greta, though it does not, among the country people, take up 
that name till within three miles of its disappearance in the River 
Derwent, may be considered as having its source in the mountain 
cove of Wythburn, and flowing through Thirlmere, the beautiful 
features of which lake are known only to those who, travelling 
between Grasmere and Keswick, have quitted the main road in the 
vale of Wythburn, and, crossing over to the opposite side of the lake, 
have proceeded with it on the right hand. 

The channel of the Greta, immediately above Keswick, has, for 
the purposes of building, been in a great measure cleared of the 
immense stones which, by their concussion in high floods, produced 
the loud and awful noises described in the sonnet. 

"The scenery upon this river," says Mr. Southey in his Colloquies, 
"where it passes under the woody side of Latrigg, is of the finest and 
most rememberable kind: 

ambiguo lapsu refluitque fluitque, 

Occurrensque sibi venturas aspicit undas. W." 

Dowden compares a letter from Coleridge to Humphry Davy of 
Oct. 9, 1800: "Greta, or rather Grieta, is exactly the Cocytus of the 
Greeks ; the word, literally rendered in modern English, is The Loud 
Lamenter'; to griet, in the Cumbrian dialect, signifying to roar 
aloud for grief or pain, and it does roar with a vengeance." 

p. 22. V. To THE RIVEB DEBWENT: This sonnet has already 
appeared in several editions of the author's poems ; but he is tempted 
to reprint it in this place, as a natural introduction to the two that 

NOTES 401 

follow it. W. 1836. It first appeared, in 1819, with The Waggoner, 
and was republished in the 1820-32 editions, among the Miscellaneous 

1-4.] Cf. Prelude, i. 269-81. 

10. Nemean] The Nemean games were held in alternate years in 
the grove surrounding the temple of Zeus Nemea, which was situated 
in the valley of Nemea in Argolis, celebrated as the place where 
Hercules slew the lion. 

buried Little -ones] Catharine (died June 4, 1812) and Thomas (died 
Dec. 1, 1812), buried in Grasmere churchyard. 

p. 23. VIII. NUN'S WELL, BRIGHAM: "So named from the Re- 
ligious House which stood close by. I have rather an odd anecdote 
bo relate of the Nun's Well. One day the Landlady of a public -house, 
a field's length from the well, on the road side, said to me 'You 
have been to see the Nun's Well, Sir?' 'The Nun's Well! what is 
that ?' said the Postman, who in his royal livery stopt his Mail-car 
at the door. The Landlady and I explained to him what the name 
meant, and what sort of people the Nuns were. A countryman who 
was standing by, rather tipsy, stammered out 'Aye, those Nuns 
were good people ; they are gone ; but we shall soon have them back 
again.' The Reform mania was just then at its height." I. F. 

11. By hooded Votaresses] Attached to the church of Brigham 
was formerly a chantry, which held a moiety of the manor ; and in 
the decayed parsonage some vestiges of monastic architecture are 
still to be seen. W. 

14. "too soft a tear"] Pope, Eloise to Abelard, 270: 

Thy voice I seem in ev'ry hymn to hear ; 
With ev'ry bead I drop too soft a tear. 

p. 24. IX. To A FRIEND: "Pastor and Patriot", "My son John, 
who was then building a Parsonage on his small living at Brigham." 
I. F. "Were you ever told that my Son is building a parsonage 
house upon a small Living, to which he was lately presented by the 
Earl of Lonsdale ? The situation is beautiful, commanding the 
windings of the Derwent both above and below the site of the House ; 
the mountain Skiddaw terminating the view one way, at a distance 
of 6 miles and the ruins of Cockermouth Castle appearing nearly in 
the centre of the same view. In consequence of some discouraging 
thoughts expressed by my Son when he had entered upon this 
undertaking, I addressed to him the following Sonnet, which you may 
perhaps read with some interest at the present crisis." W. to Lady 
Beaumont (L.Y. pp. 690-1). And Dora W. wrote to E. Q. in Feb. 
1834, sending him the sonnet: "addressed to John whose spirit failed 
him somewhat on finding he should be obliged to lay out so much 
money on his parsonage which might be taken from him any day by 

917.17 IV D d 

402 NOTES 

the reformed Parliament ; but it will do for any poor parson who is 
building for his parish." 

p. 24. X. MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS: "The fears and impatience of 
Mary were so great," says Robertson, "that she got into a fisherboat, 
and with about twenty attendants landed at Workington, in Cumber- 
land ; and thence she was conducted with many marks of respect to 
Carlisle." The apartment in which the Queen had slept at Working- 
ton Hall (where she was received by Sir Henry Curwen as became her 
rank and misfortunes) was long preserved, out of respect to her 
memory, as she had left it; and one cannot but regret that some 
necessary alterations in the mansion could not be effected without 
its destruction. W. 

5. "Bright as a Star" (v. app. crit.). "I will mention for the sake of 
the Friend who is writing down these notes, that it was among the fine 
Scotch firs near Ambleside, and particularly those near Green Bank, 
that I have over and over again paused at the sight of this image. 
Long may they stand to afford a like gratification to others ! This 
wish is not uncalled for, several of their brethren having already 
disappeared." I. F. 

HEADS : St. Bees' Heads, anciently called the Cliff of Baruth, are a 
conspicuous sea-mark for all vessels sailing in the N.E. parts of the 
Irish Sea. In a bay, one side of which is formed by the southern 
headland, stands the village of St. Bees ; a place distinguished, from 
very early times, for its religious and scholastic foundations. 

"St. Bees," say Nicholson and Burns, "had its name from Bega, 
an holy woman from Ireland, who is said to have founded here, 
about the year of our Lord 650, a small monastery, where afterwards 
a church was built in memory of her. 

"The aforesaid religious house, being destroyed by the Danes, was 
restored by William de Meschiens, son of Ranulph, and brother of 
Ranulph de Meschiens, first Earl of Cumberland after the Conquest ; 
and made a cell of a prior and six Benedictine monks to the Abbey 
of St. Mary at York." 

Several traditions of miracles, connected with the foundation of 
the first of these religious houses, survive among the people of the 
neighbourhood ; one of which is alluded to in these Stanzas ; and 
another, of a somewhat bolder and more peculiar character, has 
furnished the subject of a spirited poem by the Bev. R. Parkinson, 
M.A., late Divinity Lecturer of St. Bees' College, and now Fellow of 
the Collegiate Church of Manchester. 

After the dissolution of the monasteries, Archbishop Grindal 
founded a free school at St. Bees, from which the counties of Cumber- 
land and Westmoreland have derived great benefit; and recently, 
under the patronage of the Earl of Lonsdale, a college has been 
established there for the education of ministers for the English 

NOTES 403 

Church. The old Conventual Church has been repaired under the 
superintendence of the Rev. Dr. Ainger, the Head of the College ; and 
is well worthy of being visited by any strangers who might be led to 
the neighbourhood of this celebrated spot. 

The form of stanza in this Poem, and something in the style of 
versification, are adopted from the "St. Monica", a poem of much 
beauty upon a monastic subject, by Charlotte Smith: a lady to whom 
English verse is under greater obligations than are likely to be either 
acknowledged or remembered. She wrote little, and that little un- 
ambitiously, but with true feeling for rural nature, at a time when 
nature was not much regarded by English Poets ; for in point of time 
her earlier writings preceded, I believe, those of Cowper and Burns. 

The poem was printed with F. W. Faber's Life of St. Bega in Lives 
of the English Saints, 1844 (edited by J. H. Newman) with a prefatory 
note by Faber : "By the kind permission of the author, we are allowed 
to reprint entire Mr. W.'s beautiful stanzas on St. Bees, written, be 
it observed, so long ago as 1833. The date is noticed as giving a 
fresh instance of the remarkable way in which his poems did in divers 
places anticipate the revival of catholic doctrines among us. When 
anyone considers the tone of sneering which was almost universal in 
English authors when treating of a religious past with which they did 
not sympathize, the tone of these verses is very striking indeed, the 
more striking since Mr. W.'s works prove him to be very little in 
sympathy with Roman doctrine on the whole. Yet the affectionate 
reverence for the catholic past, the humble consciousness of a loss 
sustained by ourselves, the readiness to put a good construction on 
what he cannot wholly receive, are in this poem in very edifying 
contrast with even the half irreverent sportiveness of Mr. Southey's 
pen when employed on similar subject-matters. . . . The reader 
acquainted with Mr. W.'s poems will find an alteration in the last 
stanza ; it has been printed as it is here given at the request of the 
author himself." For the letter to Faber, dated 6 Aug. 1844, in which 
W. made this request v. L.Y., p. 1218. For the alteration v. app. 
wit. 156-9. 

37. Cruel of heart, etc.} Cf. King Lear, HI. iv. 95, "false of heart, 
ight of ear, bloody of hand". 

73. Are not, in sooth, etc.] I am aware that I am here treading upon 
lender ground ; but to the intelligent reader I feel that no apology is 
lue. The prayers of survivors, during passionate grief for the recent 
oss of relatives and friends, as the object of those prayers could no 
onger be the suffering body of the dying, would naturally be ejacu- 
ated for the souls of the departed; the barriers between the two 
worlds dissolving before the power of love and faith. The ministers 
>f religion, from their habitual attendance upon sick-beds, would be 
laily witnesses of these benign results, and hence would be strongly 

404 NOTES 

tempted to aim at giving to them permanence, by embodying them 
in rites and ceremonies, recurring at stated periods. All this, as it was 
in course of nature, so was it blameless, and even praiseworthy ; since 
some of its effects, in that rude state of society, could not but be 
salutary. No reflecting person, however, can view without sorrow the 
abuses which rose out of thus formalising sublime instincts, and dis- 
interested movements of passion, and perverting them into means of 
gratifying the ambition and rapacity of the priesthood. But, while 
we deplore and are indignant at these abuses, it would be a great 
mistake if we imputed the origin of the offices to prospective selfish- 
ness on the part of the monks and clergy : they were at first sincere in 
their sympathy, and in their degree dupes rather of their own creed, 
than artful and designing men. Charity is, upon the whole, the safest 
guide that we can take in judging our fellow-men, whether of past 
ages, or of the present time. W. 

94. Staff and cockle hat and sandal shoon] From Ophelia's song, 
Hamlet, iv. v. 26. 

108/9 and 159/60. (opjo. crit.) "When the poem was first printed 
two of the stanzas exceeded the others in length a fault which was 
afterwards corrected in the edition of 1837." W. in letter to Faber, 
v. supra. 

11826. W. spent much pains on this stanza, first printed in 1845. 
C shows nine successive drafts, of which the first is as follows : 

Less than tho abundant means and patient skill 

Of cloistered architects, men free to fill 

Their souls with love of (Jesus) God could ne'er have raised 

Churches wheroon tho rudest Peasant gazed 

With reverence, the mail-clad chief with awe, 5 

As at this day we seeing what they saw 

Humble our hearts before those sanctities 

In field or town 'mid mountain fastnesses 

Or on wave-beaten shores like thine, St. Bees. 

136. (app. crit.) Mountains of Caupland] Copeland Forest is the 
district between Ennerdale and Eskdale. The name belongs to the 
ancient Barony (Cauplandia of medieval documents). 

158-9. (app. crit.) For MS. Letter 1842 v. L.Y., p. 1138. 

162. The reference in W.'s note is to Excursion, vii. 1008-57. 

p. 30. XII. Cf. Epistle to Sir George H. Beaumont, 77-88 and note. 

p. 31. XIV. 12. Of Power, etc.} This reading was adopted on the 
suggestion of Barron Field, who pointed out that the "superfluous 
syllables" in the earlier reading "were not warranted". (Letter to W., 
Dec. 17, 1836.) 

p. 32. XV. ON ENTERING DOUGLAS BAY: Dignum laude, etc.] 
The reference is to Horace, Odes, iv. viii. 28. 

1 . Cohorn] Menno Baron Van Coehorn or Cohorn, the Dutch mili- 

NOTES 405 

tary engineer, known as "the Dutch Vauban" (1641-1704). He 
fortified Namur and other Dutch towns. W. visited Namur in 1820. 
Both M. W. and D. W. mention the fortifications in their Journals ; 
v. Memorials of a Tour on the Continent, 1820, VI, 11. 9-14, supra, 
Vol. Ill, pp. 167-8 and note, p. 469. Coehorn was one of the authorities 
on military architecture read by Uncle Toby (v. Tristram Shandy, Bk. 
II, ch. iii.). W. was familiar with Uncle Toby's obsession with the 
Siege of Namur : v. The Waggoner, ii. 128-34, note, Vol. II, pp. 498-9. 

14. noble Hillary] The Tower of Refuge, an ornament to Douglas 
Bay, was erected chiefly through the humanity and zeal of Sir William 
Hillary ; and he also was the founder of the lifeboat establishment at 
that place ; by which, under his superintendence, and often by his 
exertions at the imminent hazard of his own life, many seamen and 
passengers have been saved. W. 

D. W. records in her Journal, July 3, 1828, at Douglas: "Sir Wm. 
Hilary saved a boy's life today in harbour." The Tower of Refuge 
was built in 1832. 

p. 33. XVII. ISLE OF MAN: "My son William is here the person 
alluded to as saving the life of the youth, and the circumstances were 
as mentioned in the sonnet." I. F. But, as Dowden points out, 
John and not William was the poet's companion in the Isle of Man. 
William, however, was in the Isle of Man, with his aunt D. W. in 
1828, and the incident may have occurred then. 

p. 34. XIX. BY A RETIRED MABINEB: This unpretending sonnet 
is by a gentleman nearly connected with me, and I hope, as it falls 
so easily into its place, that both the writer and the reader will excuse 
its appearance here. W. "Mary's brother Henry." I. F. He is the 
subject of the previous sonnet. 

p. 34. XX. AT BALA-SALA. " 'A thankful Refugee,' supposed to 
be written by a friend, Mr. H. Cookson, who died there a few years 
after." I. F. Actually, he died later in the same year (v. L. F., p. 673). 
He was not, as sometimes stated, a relative of Mrs. W.'s nor of her 
cousin Canon Cookson, but one of the Cooksons of Kendal ; his son 
Strickland acted as W.'s executor. 

10-12. Cf. letter in which W. describes his visit to the Cooksons 
at Bala-Sala July 17, 1833: "the upper part of the old Tower is over- 
grown with a yellow Lychen which has the appearance of a gleam 
of perpetual evening sunshine" (L.Y., p. 659). 

p. 35. XXI. TYITWALD HILL: "Mr. Robinson and I walked the 
greater part of the way from Castle-town to Peel, and stopped some 
time at Tynwald Hill. One of my companions was an elderly man, 
who in a muddy way (for he was tipsy) explained and answered, as 
far as he could, my enquiries about this place and the ceremonies held 
here. I found more agreeable company in some little children; one 
of whom, upon my request, recited the Lord's Prayer to me, and I 
helped her to a clearer understanding of it as well as I could ; but 

406 NOTES 

I was not at all satisfied with my own part; hers was much better 
done, and I am persuaded that, like other children, she knew more 
about it than she was able to express, especially to a Stranger." I. F. 
Cf. also W.'s letter of July 17, 1833, quoted supra. 

9. old Snafell] The summit of this mountain is well chosen by 
Cowley as the scene of the "Vision", in which the spectral angel 
discourses with him concerning the government of Oliver Cromwell. 
"I found myself", says he, "on the top of that famous hill in the 
Island Mona, which has the prospect of three great, and not long 
since most happy, kingdoms. As soon as ever I looked upon them, 
they called forth the sad representation of all the sins and all the 
miseries that had overwhelmed them these twenty years." It is not 
to be denied that the changes now in progress, and the passions, and 
the way in which they work, strikingly resemble those which led to 
the disasters the philosophic writer so feelingly bewails. God grant 
that the resemblance may not become still more striking as months 
and years advance ! W. 

p. 36. XXIII. IN THE FRITH OF CLYDE : "The morning of the 
eclipse was exquisitely beautiful while we passed the Crag as described 
in the sonnet. On the deck of the steamboat were several persons of 
the poor and labouring class, and I could not but be struck by their 
cheerful talk with each other, while not one of them seemed to notice 
the magnificent objects with which we were surrounded; and even 
the phenomenon of the eclipse attracted but little of their attention. 
Was it right not to regret this ? They appeared to me, however, so 
much alive in their own minds to their own concerns that I could not 
look upon it as a misfortune that they had little perception for such 
pleasures as cannot be cultivated without ease and leisure. Yet if one 
surveys life in all its duties and relations, such ease and leisure will 
not be found so enviable a privilege as it may at first appear. Natural 
Philosophy, Painting, and Poetry, and refined taste, are no doubt 
great acquisitions to society ; but among those who dedicate them- 
selves to such pursuits it is to be feared that few are as happy, and as 
consistent in the management of their lives, as the class of persons 
who at that time led me into this course of reflection. I do not mean 
by this to be understood to derogate from intellectual pursuits, for 
that would be monstrous: I say it in deep gratitude for this com- 
pensation to those whose cares are limited to the necessities of daily 
life. Among them, self -tormentors, so numerous in the higher classes 
of society, are rare." I. F. 

p. 36. XXIV. ON THE FBITH OF CLYDE (In a steamboat): "The 
mountain outline on the north of this Island, as seen from the Frith 
of Clyde, is much the finest I have ever noticed in Scotland or else- 
where." I. F. 

piece of workmanship, as I afterwards learned, had been executed 

NOTES 407 

for their own amusement by some labourers employed about the 
place. W. 

11. And of the towering courage, etc.] The reading of the text was 
due to Barroii Field's objection that he "did not understand 'That 
towering courage, etc.' till [he] read it Of the blind courage, etc." 

p. 37. XXVI. THE DUNOLLY EAGLE: 7. The MS. reading "Villatic 
fowl" is a reminiscence of Samson Agonistes, 1695. 

OSSIAN: 47-8. "The verses 

'Or strayed 
From hope and promise, self -betrayed,' 

were, I am sorry to say, suggested from apprehensions of the fate of 
my friend, H. C., the subject of the verses addressed to C H. C. when 
six years old.' The piece to 'Memory* arose out of similar feelings." 
I. F. 

Before 1845 this poem was placed among Poems of Sentiment and 
Reflection. For W.'s opinion of Macpherson's Ossian cf. Essay Sup- 
plementary to the Preface of 1815, supra, Vol. II, p. 423, and letter 
to E. H. Barker (L.Y., p. 382). 

3940. Musaeus, etc.] No well Smith compares Virgil, Aeneid, vi. 

Musaeum ante omnes (medium nam plurima turba 
Hanc habet atque humeris extantem suscipit altis). 

57-60. W. writes to T. N. Talfourd: "The leading interest 
attached to the name of Ossian is connected with grey hairs, infirmity 
and privation" (L.Y., p. 817). 

p. 40. XXIX. CAVE OF STAFFA: The reader may be tempted to 
exclaim, How came this and the two following sonnets to be written, 
after the dissatisfaction expressed in the preceding one ? In fact, 
at the risk of incurring the reasonable displeasure of the master of the 
steamboat, I returned to the cave, and explored it under circum- 
stances more favourable to those imaginative impressions which it 
is so wonderfully fitted to make upon the mind. W. 

6. "the high embowed roof" Milton, II Penseroso, 157. 

the head of the columns which form the front of the cave, rests a body 
of decomposed basaltic matter, which was richly decorated with that 
large bright flower, the ox-eyed daisy. I had noticed the same flower 
growing with profusion among the bold rocks on the western coast 
of the Isle of Man, making a brilliant contrast with their black and 
gloomy surfaces. W. 

p. 42. XXXIII. IONA, upon Landing: The four last lines of this 
sonnet are adopted from a well-known sonnet of Russel, as conveying 
my feeling better than any words of my own could do. W. The 
sonnet from which W. borrows is No. X ("Could, then, the Babes") 

408 NOTES 

in the Sonnets and Miscellaneous Poems by the Rev. Thomas Russell, 
Fellow of New College, Oxford, 1789. For W.'s admiration of Russell's 
poetry, particularly this one and that on Philoctetes (Supposed to be 
written at Lemnos), v. L.Y., pp. 70, 652-3. 

p. 43. XXXIV. THE BLACK STONES OF IONA : Martin's Voyage, etc.] 
i.e. Description of the Western Islands of Scotland: including an account 
of the Manners, Customs, Religion, Language, Dress etc. of the inhabi- 
tants, by M. Martin, 1703. 

p. 43. XXXV. Homeward we turn. Isle of Columba's cell: Columba, 
an Irish saint born A.D. 521. In Ireland he founded two monasteries ; 
then, with twelve disciples, he went to Scotland and was given the 
Island of lona, where ho built a church and monastery, and was 
largely instrumental in the conversion of the Picts. 

p. 44. XXXVI. GBEENOCK : Per me si va, etc. Dante, Inferno, iii. 1. 

p. 44. XXXVII. "There!" said a Stripling: "Mosgiel was thus 
pointed out to me by a young man on the top of the coach on my way 
from Glasgow to Kilmarnock. It is remarkable that, though Burns 
lived some time here, and during much the most productive period 
of his poetical life, he nowhere adverts to the splendid prospects 
stretching towards the sea and bounded by the peaks of Arran on one 
part, which in clear weather he must have had daily before his eyes. 
Yet this is easily explained. In one of his poetical effusions he speaks 
of describing 'fair Nature's face' as a privilege on which he sets a 
high value; nevertheless, natural appearances rarely take a lead in 
his poetry. It is as a human being, eminently sensitive and intelligent, 
and not as a Poet, clad in his priestly robes and carrying the ensigns 
of sacerdotal office, that he interests and affects us. Whether he 
speaks of rivers, hills, and woods, it is not so much on account of the 
properties with which they are absolutely endowed, as relatively to 
local patriotic remembrances and associations, or as they ministered 
to personal feelings, especially those of love, whether happy or other- 
wise ; yet it is not always so. Soon after we had passed Mosgiel Farm 
we crossed the Ayr, murmuring and winding through a narrow woody 
hollow. His line 'Auld hermit Ayr strays through his woods 1 
came at once to -my mind with Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, and Doon, 
Ayrshire streams over which he breathes a sigh as being unnamed in 
song; and surely his own attempts to make them known were as 
successful as his heart could desire." I. F. 

9. "the Random bield of clod or stone"] From Burns, To a Mountain 
Daisy, iv. : 

But thou beneath the random bield 
O' clod or stone. 

"Bield" is the dialect word for shelter, often found in place-names in 
the Lake District, v. note to Epistle to Sir O. H. Beaumont, 1. 175 
(p. 47). Cf. The Sfopherd of BieU Crag: Note to Exc. vi, 1079, 
Vol. V. 

NOTES 409 

p. 45. XXXVIII. THE RIVEB EDEN: It is to be feared that there 
is more of the poet than the sound etymologist in this derivation of 
the name Eden. On the western coast of Cumberland is a rivulet 
which enters the sea at Moresby, known also in the neighbourhood by 
the name of Eden. May not the latter syllable come from the word 
Dean, a valley ? Langdale, near Ambleside, is by the inhabitants 
called Langden. The former syllable occurs in the name Emont, a 
principal feeder of the Eden ; and the stream which flows, when the 
tide is out, over Cartmel sands, is called the Ea eau, French 
aqua, Latin. W. 

2-3. verse of mine the . . . Repeats but once] i.e. in Song at the feast 
of Brougham Castle, 46-7. 

67. Nature gives thee flowers etc.] "This can scarcely be true to 
the letter ; but, without stretching the point at all, I can say that the 
soil and air appear more congenial with many upon the banks of this 
river, than I have observed in any other parts of Great Britain." I. F. 

p. 45. XXXIX. MONUMENT OF MBS. HOWABD: "Before this 
monument was put up in the Chapel at Wetheral I saw it in the 
Sculptor's studio. Nollekens, who, by the bye, was a strange and 
grotesque figure that interfered much with one's admiration of his 
works, showed me at the same time the various models in clay which 
he had made, one after another, of the Mother and her Infant : the 
improvement on each was surprising ; and how so much grace, beauty, 
and tenderness had come out of such a head I was sadly puzzled to 
conceive. Upon a window-seat in his parlour lay two casts of faces, 
one of the Duchess of Devonshire, so noted in her day ; and the other 
of Mr. Pitt, taken after his death, a ghastly resemblance, as these 
things always are, even when taken from the living subject, and more 
ghastly in this instance from the peculiarity of the features. The 
heedless and apparently neglectful manner in which the faces of these 
two persons were left the one so distinguished in London Society, 
and the other upon whose counsels and public conduct, during a most 
momentous period, depended the fate of this great Empire and per- 
haps of all Europe afforded a lesson to which the dullest of casual 
visitors could scarcely be insensible. It touched me the more because 
I had so often seen Mr. Pitt upon his own ground at Cambridge and 
upon the floor of the House of Commons." I. F. v. W.'s letter to 
Allan Cunningham (L.Y., p. 708). 

p. 46. XLI. NUNNERY: "I became acquainted with the walks of 
Nunnery when a boy ; they are within easy reach of a day's pleasant 
excursion from the town of Penrith, where I used to pass my summer 
holidays under the roof of my maternal Grandfather. The place is 
well worth visiting ; though, within these few years its privacy, and 
therefore the pleasure which the scene is so well fitted to give, has 
been injuriously affected by walks cut in the rocks on that side the 
stream which had been left in its natural state." I. F. 

410 NOTES 

14. Canal, and Viaduct, and Railway] At Corby, a few miles below 
Nunnery, the Eden is crossed by a magnificent viaduct ; and another 
of these works is thrown over a deep glen or ravine, at a very short 
distance from the main stream. W. 

AND HER DAUGHTERS : The daughters of Long Meg, placed in a per- 
fect circle eighty yards in diameter, are seventy -two in number above 
ground ; a little way out of the circle stands Long Meg herself, a single 
stone, eighteen feet high. When I first saw this monument, as I came 
upon it by surprise, I might over -rate its importance as an object ; 
but, though it will not bear a comparison with Stonehenge, I must 
say I have not seen any other relique of those dark ages which can 
pretend to rival it in singularity and dignity of appearance. W. 

The sonnet was probably written in January 1821. On Jan. 6 of 
that year he wrote to Sir George Beaumont: "My road brought me 
suddenly and unexpectedly upon that ancient monument called by 
the country people Long Meg and her Daughters. Everybody has 
heard of it, and so had I from very early childhood, but had never 
seen it before. Next to Stonehenge it is, beyond dispute, the most 
noble relic of the kind that this or probably any other country con- 
tains. Long Meg is a single block of unhewn stone, eighteen feet high, 
at a small distance from a vast circle of other stones, some of them 
of huge size, though curtailed of their stature by their own incessant 
pressure upon it" (L.Y., p. 6). 

The sonnet was first published in W.'s Guide to the Lakes, third 
edition, 1822 (v. edition by E. de S., London, 1906, p. 53), in 1827 
and 1832 among the Miscellaneous Sonnets. It took its present 
position in 1837. Three manuscripts are known to me one in the 
W. Museum at Grasmere, the other two in the Cornell Library, among 
the drafts of the Ecclesiastical Sonnets (v. Ecclesiastical Sonnets, ed. 
Potts, pp. 104 and 105). 

p. 48. XLIV. LOWTHER: "Cathedral pomp. It may be questioned 
whether this union was in the contemplation of the Artist when he 
planned the Edifice. However this might be, a Poet may be excused 
for taking the view of the subject presented in this sonnet." I. F. 

p. 49. XLV. To THE EARL OF LONSDALE : This sonnet was written 
immediately after certain trials, which took place at the Cumberland 
Assizes, when the Earl of Lonsdale, in consequence of repeated 
and long -continued attacks upon his character, through the local 
press, had thought it right to prosecute the conductors and pro- 
prietors of three several journals. A verdict of libel was given in one 
case ; and, in the others, the prosecutions were withdrawn, upon the 
individuals retracting and disavowing the charges, expressing regret 
that they had been made, and promising to abstain from the like in 
future. W. 

p. 49. XL VI. THE SOMNAMBULIST: "This poem might be dedi- 

NOTES 411 

cated to my friends Sir G. Beaumont and Mr. Rogers, jointly. While 
we were making an excursion together in this part of the Lake Dis- 
trict we heard that Mr. Glover, the Artist, while lodging at Lyulph's 
Tower, had been disturbed by a loud shriek, and upon rising he had 
learnt that it had come from a young woman in the house who was 
in the habit of walking in her sleep: in that state she had gone 
downstairs, and, while attempting to open the outer door, either from 
some difficulty or the effect of the cold stone upon her feet, had 
uttered the cry which alarmed him. It seemed to us all that this 
might serve as a hint for a poem, and the story here told was con- 
structed, and soon after put into verse by me as it now stands." I. F. 
In ed. 1837 W. dated the poem 1833, but he wrote of it to Rogers in 
July 1830 as written more than a year ago, and it is found in a manu- 
script with other work of 1828. Sir George Beaumont died in 
Feb. 1827, and he and Rogers had spent some time with W. in the 
Lake country during the previous summer. 

84-5. that pale Queen] Lady Macbeth. (Macbeth iv. v.) 

150. From vain temptations free] Cf. Ode to Duty (early draft). 

p. 54. XL VII. To CORDELIA M : i.e. Cordelia Marshall, 

daughter of D. W.'s great friend, Jane Marshall. In 1841 she married 
William Whewell, who succeeded W.'s brother as Master of Trinity, 
Cambridge, in that year. 


p. 56. I. EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY: "This poem is a favourite 
among the Quakers, as I have learnt on many occasions. It was 
composed in front of the house at Alfoxden in the spring of 1798." 
I. F. 

Hutchinson points out that the friend alluded to in the Advertise- 
ment to L.B. 1798 [the two poems "arose out of a conversation with a 
friend who was somewhat unreasonably attached to modern books 
of Moral Philosophy"] was Hazlitt, who visited W. at Alfoxden in 
May-June 1798. Hazlitt was at the time busy over his Essay on the 
Principles of Human Action 9 and later, in his essay On my First 
Acquaintance with Poets, he relates that one evening "I got into a 
metaphysical argument with W. while Coleridge was explaining the 
different notes of the nightingale to his sister, in which we neither 
of us succeeded in making ourselves perfectly clear and intelligible". 

15. For Matthew v. X, infra. 

p. 68. III. LINES WBITTEN IN EARLY SPUING: "1798. Actually 
composed while I was sitting by the side of the brook that runs down 
from the Comb, in which stands the village of Alford, through the 
grounds of Alfoxden. It was a chosen resort of mine. The brook fell 
down a sloping rock so as to make a waterfall considerable for that 
country, and across the pool below had fallen a tree, an ash, if I 

412 . NOTES 

rightly remember, from which rose perpendicularly boughs in search 
of the light intercepted by the deep shade above. The boughs bore 
leaves of green that for want of sunshine had faded into almost lily- 
white ; and from the underside of this natural sylvan bridge depended 
long and beautiful tresses of ivy which waved gently in the breeze 
that might poetically speaking be called the breath of the waterfall. 
This motion varied of course in proportion to the power of water in 
the brook. When, with dear friends, I revisited this spot, after an 
interval of more than forty years, this interesting feature of the scene 
was gone. To the owner of the place I could not but regret that the 
beauty of this retired part of the grounds had not tempted him to 
make it more accessible by a path, not broad or obtrusive, but 
sufficient for persons who love such scenes to creep along without 
difficulty." I. F. 

p. 58. IV. A CHABACTEB: "The principal features are taken from 
that of my friend Robert Jones." I. F. For Jones v. Vol. Ill, 
Sonnets, pp. 41 and 110 and Notes. A Character was omitted from 
edd. 1802-32. In 1800 it had the title A Character, in the Antithetical 

p. 59. V. To MY SISTEB: "Composed in front of Alfoxden House. 
My lit tie boy -messenger on this occasion was the son of Basil Montagu. 
The larch mentioned in the first stanza was standing when I revisited 
the place in May, 1841, more than forty years after. I was disappoin- 
ted that it had not improved in appearance as to size, nor had it 
acquired anything of the majesty of age, which, even though less 
perhaps than any other tree, the larch sometimes does. A few score 
yards from this tree grew, when we inhabited Alfoxden, one of the 
most remarkable beech -trees ever seen. The ground sloped both 
towards and from it. It was of immense size, and threw out arms 
that struck into the soil, like those of the banyan tree, and rose again 
from it. Two of the branches thus inserted themselves twice, which 
gave to each the appearance of a serpent moving along by gathering 
itself up in folds. One of the large boughs of this tree had been torn 
off by the wind before we left Alfoxden, but five remained. In 1841 
we could barely find the spot where the tree had stood. So remarkable 
a production of nature could not have been wilfully destroyed." I. F. 

p. 60. VI. SIMON LEE : "This old man had been huntsman to the 
Squires of Alfoxden, which, at the time we occupied it, belonged to 
a minor. The old man's cottage stood upon the common, a little way 
from the entrance to Alfoxden Park. But it had disappeared. Many 
other changes had t&ken place in the adjoining village, which I could 
not but notice with a regret more natural than well-considered. 
Improvements but rarely appear such to those who, after long inter- 
vals of time, revisit places they have had much pleasure in. It is 
unnecessary to add, the fact was as mentioned in the poem ; and I 
have, after an interval of 45 years, the image of the old man as fresh 

NOTES 413 

before my eyes as if I had seen him yesterday. The expression when 
the hounds were out, 'I dearly love their voices' was word for word 
from his own lips." I. F. 

On the text of no other short poem did W. expend so much labour 
as on Simon Lee. As Dowden has pointed out, ' 'the first seven stanzas 
are found in different texts and different sequence in 1798, 1802, 1820, 
1827, 1832. Words and lines were altered, stanzas shifted in position, 
and new stanzas constructed by connecting the halves of certain 
stanzas with the halves of others." The object, as Hutchinson sug- 
gests, was probably "to broaden and emphasize the contrast between 
Simon's radiant youth and decrepit age. In 1798 contrasted traits 
of youth and age jostle each other throughout the several stanzas . . . 
in 1832 the traits and evidences of Simon's early vigour are concen- 
trated within stanzas 1-3, while those of his sad decline are brought 
together in stanzas 4-7, the contrast being marked by the phrase 
'But oh, the heavy change !' " I have given in the app. crit. the text 
of 1798 ; the later progress of the text was as follows: [a = 11. 1-4; 
6 = 11. 5-8 of each stanza]. 

In 1800, the only change was in 5. 1. 2 little to dwindled. 

In 1802-15 stanzas 4, 5, 6 are transposed to the order 5, 6, 4. 

In 1820 the order becomes la 26, 3, 4a 56, 6, 5a 46, 7, 8, 9. 

In 1827 the order becomes la 26, 4a 36, 3a 56, 6, 5a 46, 8, 7, 9. 

In 1832 the order becomes la 26, 3a 56, 6, 4a 36, etc. as 1827. 

These changes in order were accompanied by some changes in the 
text. Tho final reading of 11. 7-8 dates from 1820, as also does that 
of 11. 27-9 (but with And for Old) and of 1. 35. The final reading of 
11. 4-5 and 13-16 dates from 1827. In 1827 also 11. 25-6 read: 

Worn out by hunting feats bereft 
By time of friends and kindred, see ! 

The final reading dates from 1 832. Lines 47-8 reached their final stage 
only in 1845. 

"But what," saith he, "avails the land, 

Which I can till no longer ?" 1827. 

But what avails it now, the land, 

Which he can till no longer ? 1832. 

'Tis his, but what avails the land, 

Which he can till no longer ? 1837. 

The time alas ! is come, when he 

Can till the land no longer. 1840. 

A sad possession now, for he 

Can till the land no longer. C. 

For 1798-1820 v. app. crit. 
The final reading of 11. 55-6 dates from 1840. 

25. But, oh the heavy change] From Lycidas, 37. 

p. 64. VII. WBITTENIN GEBMANY : "1798 and 1799. A bitter winter 

414 NOTES 

it was when these verses were composed by the side of my Sister, 
in our lodgings at a draper's house in the romantic imperial town of 
Goslar, on the edge of the Hartz Forest. In this town the German 
emperors of the Franconian line were accustomed to keep their court, 
and it retains vestiges of ancient splendour. So severe was the cold 
of this winter, that when we passed out of the parlour warmed by the 
stove, our cheeks were struck by the air as by cold iron. I slept in a 
room over a passage which was not ceiled. The people of the house 
used to say, rather unfeelingly, that they expected I should be frozen 
to death some night ; but, with the protection of a pelisse lined with 
fur, and a dog's-skin bonnet, such as was worn by the peasants, I 
walked daily on the ramparts, or in a sort of public ground or garden, 
in which was a pond. Here, I had no companion but a kingfisher, a 
beautiful creature, that used to glance by me. I consequently became 
much attached to it. During these walks I composed the poem that 
follows, The Poet's Epitaph" I. F. 

p. 65. .VIII. THE POET'S EPITAPH: Mr. T. E. Casson (Times Lit. 
Suppl., Sept. 11, 1937) calls attention to the parallel between this 
poem, especially the last couplet, and Theocritus, Epigram XIX: 

'O p,ovoo7Tot6s 


1 5* taai KpTJyVOS TC Kal TTO/XX 

dapaewv Ko6i^v f Krjv OeXys, 

(Here lies the poet Hipponax I If thou art a sinner draw not near this 
tomb, but if thou art a true man, and the son of righteous sires, sit 
boldly down here, yea, and sleep if thou wilt. Trs. Lang.) It is 
noteworthy that in the February of the year in which the poem was 
composed W., in writing to Coleridge, refers to Theocritus. Cf. also 
Burns, A Bard's Epitaph. 

24. (App. crit. ) Lamb wrote in a letter, 1 80 1 : ' * The Poet's Epitaph is dis- 
figured, to my taste, by the common satire upon parsons and lawyers in 
the beginning, and the coarse epithet of 'pin-point' in the sixth stanza." 

p. 67. IX. To THE DAISY: "This and the other poems addressed to 
the same flower were composed at Town-end, Grasmere, during the 
earlier part of my residence there. I have been censured for the last 
line but one 'thy function apostolical' as being little less than 
profane. How could it be thought so ? The word is adopted with 
reference to its derivation, implying something sent on a mission; 
and assuredly this little flower, especially when the subject of verse, 
may be regarded, in its humble degree, as administering both to moral 
and to spiritual purposes." I. F. 

Placed among Poems of the Fancy, 1815-32. 

21-4. v. The Simpliciad: 

Of Apostolic daisies learn to think, 

Draughts from their urns of true devotion drink. 

NOTES 415 

p. 68. X. MATTHEW: "Such a Tablet as is here spoken of con- 
tinued to be preserved in Hawkshead School, though the inscriptions 
were not brought down to our time. This and other poems connected 
with Matthew would not gain by a literal detail of facts. Like the 
Wanderer in 'The Excursion', this Schoolmaster was made up of 
several both of his class and men of other occupations. I do not ask 
pardon for what there is of untruth in such verses, considered strictly 
as matters of fact. It is enough if, being true and consistent in spirit, 
they move and teach in a manner not unworthy of a Poet's calling.*' 

I. F. Cf . Note to Address to the Scholars of the Village School of , 

p. 451 infra. 

p. 73. XIII. PERSONAL TALK: "Written at Town-end. The last 
line but two stood, at first, better and more characteristically thus: 

'By my half -kitchen and half -parlour fire.' 

My Sister and I were in the habit of having the tea-kettle in our little 
sitting-room ; and we toasted the bread ourselves, which reminds me 
of a little circumstance not unworthy of being set down among these 
minutiae. Happening both of us to be engaged a few minutes one 
morning when we had a young prig of a Scotch lawyer to breakfast 
with us, my dear Sister, with her usual simplicity, put the toasting- 
fork with a slice of bread into the hands of this Edinburgh genius. 
Our little book-case stood on one side of the fire. To prevent loss of 
time, he took down a book, and fell to reading to the neglect of the 
toast, which was burnt to a cinder. Many a time we laughed at this 
circumstance, and other cottage simplicities of that day. By the bye, 
I have a spite at one of this series of Sonnets (I will leave the reader 
to discover which) as having been the means of nearly putting off for 
ever our acquaintance with dear Miss Fenwick, who has always 
stigmatised one line of it as vulgar, and worthy only of having been 
composed by a country Squire." I. F. 

6. maidens withering on the stalk] The line "stigmatised" by Miss 
Fenwick ; but it is a reminiscence of the speech of Theseus to Hermia 
in A Midsummer -Night's Dream, i. i. 76-8. 

But earthlier happy is the rose distilled 

Than that which withering on the virgin thorn 

Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness ; 

Cf. also Comus, 743: 

If you let slip time, like a neglected rose 

It withers on the stalk with languished head. 

25-6. sweetest melodies . . . sweet] From Collins, Ode, The Passions, 

In notes by distance made more sweet. 

W. had already borrowed the phrase in An Evening Walk, 237. 
32. with the lofty sanctifies the low] Cf. Prelude, xiv. 271, and 

416 NOTES 

Epitaphs translated from Chiabrera, iv. 24, p. 250 supra, and Excursion, 
vii. 1047. All go back to Isaiah ii. 12. 

41-2. W. told R. P. Graves that "the Tragedy of Othello, Plato's 
record of the last scenes of the career of Socrates, and Isaac Walton's 
Life of George Herbert, were in his opinion the most pathetic of human 
compositions". For his love of the first book of the Faerie Queene v. 
dedication to The White Doe of Rylstone. 

44-5. remote . . . thought] On this rhyme v. Vol. I, p. 367. 

that "The Illustrated London News the pioneer of illustrated news- 
papers was first issued on 14th May 1842". 

p. 75. XV. To THE SPADE or A FRIEND: "This person was 
Thomas Wilkinson, a quaker by religious profession ; by natural con- 
stitution of mind, or shall I venture to say, by God's grace, he was 
something better. He had inherited a small estate, and built a house 
upon it near Yanwath, upon the banks of the Emont. I have heard 
him say that his heart used to beat, in his boyhood, when he heard 
the sound of a drum and fife. Nevertheless, the spirit of enterprise 
in him confined itself to tilling his ground, and conquering such 
obstacles as stood in the way of its fertility. Persons of his religious 
persuasion do now, in a far greater degree than formerly, attach 
themselves to trade and commerce. He kept the old track. As 
represented in this poem, he employed his leisure hours in shaping 
pleasant walks by the side of his beloved river, where he also built 
something between a hermitage and a summer-house, attaching to it 
inscriptions after the manner of Shenstone at his Leasowes. He used 
to travel from time to time, partly from love of nature, and partly 
with religious friends in the service of humanity. His admiration of 
genius in every department did him much honour. Through his 
connection with the family in which Edmund Burke was educated, 
he became acquainted with that great man, who used to receive him 
with great kindness and consideration ; and many times have I heard 
Wilkinson speak of those interesting interviews. He was honoured 
also by the friendship of Elizabeth Smith, and of Thomas Clarkson 
and his excellent wife, and he was much esteemed by Lord and Lady 
Lonsdale, and every member of that family. Among his verses (he 
wrote many) are some worthy of preservation one little poem in 
particular upon disturbing, by prying curiosity, a bird while hatching 
her young in his garden. The latter part of this innocent and good 
man's life was melancholy. He became blind, and also poor by 
becoming surety for some of his relations. He was a bachelor. He 
bore, as I have often witnessed, his calamities with unfailing resigna- 
tion. I will only add that, while working in one of his fields, he un- 
earthed a stone of considerable size, then another, then two more, 
and, observing that they had been placed in order as if forming the 
segment of a circle, he proceeded carefully to uncover the soil, and 

NOTES 417 

brought into view a beautiful Druids' temple of perfect though small 
dimensions. In order to make his farm more compact, he exchanged 
this field for another; and, I am sorry to add, the new proprietor 
destroyed this interesting relic of remote ages for some vulgar pur- 
pose. The fact, so far as concerns Thomas Wilkinson, is mentioned 
in the note on a Sonnet on Long Meg and her Daughters." I. F. 

For Wilkinson v. also note to The Solitary Reaper (Vol. Ill, pp. 444-5) . 

28. For the change in text from the reading of 1807 (v. app. crit.) 
v. note to XVIII, infra. 

p. 77. XVI. A NIGHT THOUGHT: "These verses were thrown off 
extempore upon leaving Mrs. Luff's house at Fox-Ghyll, one evening. 
The good woman is not disposed to look at the bright side of things, 
and there happened to be present certain ladies who had reached the 
point of life where youth is ended, who seemed to contend with each 
other in expressing their dislike of the country and climate. One of 
them had been heard to say she could not endure a country where 
there was 'neither sunshine nor cavaliers'." I. F. On Mrs. Luff v. 
E.L., pp. 277-8. 

"This Dog I knew well. It belonged to Mrs. Wordsworth's brother, 
Mr. Thomas Hutchinson, who then lived at Sockburn on the Tees, 
a beautiful retired situation where I used to visit him and his sisters 
before my marriage. My Sister and I spent many months there after 
our return from Germany in 1799." I. F. 

changes introduced into the text (v. app. crit.) were perhaps due to 
the contemptuous reference in The Simpliciad to poets who "Pray 
for their spaniels, consecrate their spades". 

p. 80. XIX. FIDEUTY: "The young man whose death gave 
occasion to this poem was named Charles Gough, and had come 
early in the spring to Patterdale for the sake of angling. While 
attempting to cross over Helvellyn to Grasmere he slipped from a 
steep part of the rock where the ice was not thawed, and perished. 
His body was discovered as is told in this poem. Walter Scott heard of 
the accident, and both he and I, without either of us knowing that 
the other had taken up the subject, each wrote a poem in admiration 
of the dog's fidelity. His contains a most beautiful stanza: 

'How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber ? 
When the wind waved his garment how oft didst thou start ?' 

[v. note to Musings near Aqtiapendente, Vol. Ill, pp. 490-1.] 

I will add that the s entiment in tho last four lines of the last stanza 
in my verses was uttered by a shepherd with such exactness, that 
a traveller, who afterwards reported his account in print, was induced 
to question the man whether he had read them, which he had not." 
I. F. 

917.17 IV EG 

418 NOTES 

The lines (v. app. crit.) which W. omitted from the printed 
(1807) version of Fidelity are preserved in two manuscripts, one at 
Coleorton and the other, in the hand of S. H., at Grasmere. 

p. 83. XX. ODE TO DUTY: "This Ode, written 1805, is on the 
model of Gray's Ode to Adversity which is copied from Horace's Ode 
to Fortune; [but is not the first stanza of Gray's from a Chorus of 
JEschylus ? and is not Horace's Ode also modelled on the Greek ?] 
Many and many a time have I been twitted by my wife and sister for 
having forgotten this dedication of myself to the stern lawgiver. 
Transgressor indeed I have been, from hour to hour, from day to day ; 
I would fain hope, however, not more flagrantly nor in a worse way 
than most of my tuneful brethren. But these last words are in a 
wrong strain. We should be rigorous to ourselves, and forbearing if 
not indulgent to others, and if we make comparisons at all it ought to 
be with those who have morally excelled us." I. F. (The passage in 
square brackets written in, in pencil, in E. Q.'s hand.) 

W.'s dating of the poem has been proved to be inaccurate. On 
April 7, 1805, Coleridge entered in a note -book: "I remember having 
written a strong letter to my most dear and honoured W. in conse- 
quence of his Ode to Duty." It is obvious, from his wording, that 
C. refers to a more or less distant date ; further, in writing to Stuart, 
April 20, he says he has had no letter from W. since one dated the 
previous September. It seems highly probable, as Nowell Smith sug- 
gests in Times Lit. SuppL, June 20, 1935, that the ode was written 
soon after Coleridge left Grasmere in Jan. 1804, and was sent on to 
him to take with him to Malta. Its presence in MS. M corroborates 
this. In addition to MS. M two manuscripts are known to be extant, 
the Longman MS., and a transcript in the Beaumont collection at 
Coleorton. They are referred to in the app. crit. as M, L, and B. 

While the debt to Gray's Ode to Adversity is obvious enough, it is 
interesting to note how W. had Milton at the back of his mind as he 
wrote, v. notes infra. 

The motto is adapted from Seneca, Moral Epistles, cxx. 10; it 
was suggested to W. by Barron Field in a letter dated Dec. 17, 

1. daughter of the voice of God] Cf. Paradise Lost, ix. 652-3: 

God so commanded, and left that Command 
Sole Daughter of his voice. 

31. (a/pp. crit.) shoved away] Cf. Lycidas, 118: u And shove away 
the worthy bidden guest." 

38. I feel the weight etc.] Cf. Misc. Sonnets, i. 13. 

41-8. This stanza was omitted from the text after 1807, but, 
following Hutchinson, I venture to restore it as a valuable link in the 
thought. The quotation in it is from Milton : Dedication to the Parlia- 
ment of England of The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce : "to enslave 

NOTES 419 

the dignity of Man, to put a garrison upon his neck of empty and 
over-dignified precepts." 

556. These two lines* the most imaginative in the poem, were 
denounced by the Edinburgh Review as "utterly without meaning ; we 
have no sort of conception in what sense Duty can be said to keep the 
old skies fresh, and the stars from wrong" (Oct. 1807). 

61. lowly wise] Cf. Paradise Lost, viii. 172: 

Be lowly wise ; 
Think only what concerns thee and thy being. 

63. confidence of reason] : Professor Beatty points out that W. 
owed this phrase to Johnson's Life of Addison: "Truth . . . sometimes 
attracts regard in the robe of fancy, and sometimes steps forth in the 
confidence of reason." 

verses were written soon after tidings had been received of the Death 
of Lord Nelson, which event directed the Author's thoughts to the 
subject. His respect for the memory of his great fellow-countryman 
induces him to mention this ; though he is well aware that the Verses 
must suffer from any connection in the Reader's mind with a Name 
so illustrious. W. 1807. 

"The course of the great war with the French naturally fixed one's 
attention upon the military character, and, to the honour of our 
country, there were many illustrious instances of the qualities that 
constitute its highest excellence. Lord Nelson carried most of the 
virtues that the trials he was exposed to in his department of the ser- 
vice necessarily call forth and sustain, if they do not produce the 
contrary vices. But his public life was stained with one great crime, 
so that, though many passages of these lines were suggested by what 
was generally known as excellent in his conduct, I have not been able 
to connect his name with the poem as I could wish, or even to think 
of him with satisfaction in reference to the idea of what a warrior 
ought to be. For the sake of such of my friends as may happen to 
read this note I will add, that many elements of the character here 
portrayed were found in my brother John, who perished by ship- 
wreck as mentioned elsewhere. His messmates used to call him the 
Philosopher, from which it must be inferred that the qualities and 
dispositions I allude to had not escaped their notice. He often ex- 
pressed his regret, after the war had continued some time, that he had 
not chosen the Naval, instead of the East India Company's service, to 
which his family connection had led him. He greatly valued moral and 
religious instruction for youth, as tending to make good sailors. The 
best, he used to say, came from Scotland ; the next to them, from the 
North of England, especially from Westmoreland and Cumberland, 
where, thanks to the piety and local attachments of our ancestors, 
endowed, or, as theyare commonly called, free, schools abound." I. P. 

420 NOTES 

It is probable that W. was also influenced in writing the poem by his 
memories of Beaupuy (v. Prelude, ix) and by Daniel's Funerall Poem 
Upon the Earl of Devonshire. 

6-34. Cf. passages in W.'s letters to Sir G. Beaumont on his brother 
John (E.L., pp. 452, 462): "Of all human beings whom I ever knew, 
he was the man of the most rational desires, the most sedate habits, 
and the most perfect self-command. " * 'I will here transcribe a passage 
which I met the other day . . . from Aristotle's Synopsis of the Virtues 
and Vices. 'It is,' says he, 'the property of fortitude not to be easily 
terrified by the dread of things pertaining to death ; to possess good 
confidence in things terrible, and presence of mind in dangers ; rather 
to prefer to be put to death worthily, than to be preserved basely ; 
and to be the cause of victory. Moreover, it is the property of fortitude 
to labour and endure, and to make valorous exertion an object of 
choice. Further, presence of mind, a well-disposed soul, confidence 
and boldness are the attendants on fortitude; and, besides these, 
industry and patience.' Except in the circumstance of making valor- 
ous exertion 'an object of choice* (if the philosopher alludes to general 
habits of character), my brother might have sat for this picture; but 
he was of a meek and retired nature, loving all quiet things." 

33-44. Cf. Daniel's Funerall Poem Upon the Earl of Devonshire, 

For that which many, whom ambition foyles 

And tortures with their hopes, hardly attaine 

With all their thrusts, and shouldring plots, and wiles 

Was easily made thine, without thy paine. 

And without any private malicing 

Or publique greevance, every good man joy'd 

That vertue could come cleere to any thing. 

48-60. Cf. ib. 107-14: 

Although in peace, thou seem'dst to be all peace 

Yet being in warre, thou wert all warre, and there 

As in thy spheere thy spirits did never cease 

To move with indefatigable care, 

And nothing seem'd more to arride thy heart 

Nor more inlarge thee into jollity, 

Then when thou sawest thy selfe in armour girt, 

Or any act of armes like to be nye. 

75-6. persevering to the last From well to better] 
"For Knightes ever should be persevering 
To seek honour without feintise or slouth 
Fro well to better in all manner thing." 

CHATJCEB. The Floure and the Leafe: W. 1807. 
p. 88. XXII. THE FOBOE OF PBAYEB: "An Appendage to The 
White Doe. My friend, Mr. Rogers, has also written on the subject. 

NOTES 421 

The story is preserved in Dr. Whitaker's 'History of Craven' a 
topographical writer of first-rate merit in all that concerns the past ; 
but such was his aversion from the modern spirit, as shown in the 
spread of manufacturies in those districts of which he treats, that his 
readers are left entirely ignorant both of the progress of these arts 
and their real bearing upon the comfort, virtues, and happiness of 
the inhabitants. While wandering on foot through the fertile valleys 
and over the moorlands of the Apennine that divides Yorkshire from 
Lancashire, I used to be delighted with observing the number of 
substantial cottages that had sprung up on every side, each having its 
little plot of fertile ground won from the surrounding waste. A 
bright and warm fire, if needed, was always to be found in these 
dwellings . The father was at his loom ; the children looked healthy and 
happy. Is it not to be feared that the increase of mechanic power has 
done away with many of these blessings, and substituted many evils ? 
Alas ! if these evils grow, how are they to be checked, and where is 
the remedy to be found ? Political economy will not supply it ; that 
is certain, wo must look to something deeper, purer, and higher." 
I. F. 

For date of composition v. D. W.'s Letter to Jane Marshall, Oct. 1 8, 
1807 (M.Y., p. 146). 

39-40. (app. crit.) "Alluding to a Ballad of Logan's. W. W., 1807" 
K. (referring one must suppose to a manuscript). Lines 3946 of 
the poem clearly recall Logan's The Braes of Yarrow. 

p. 91. XXIII. A FACT, AND AN IMAGINATION: "The first and last 
fourteen lines of this Poem each make a sonnet, and were composed 
as such ; but I thought that by intermediate lines they might be con- 
nected so as to make a whole. One or two expressions are taken from 
Milton's History of England:' I. F. 

The last fourteen lines of the poem are printed by K. andN. C. Smith, 
but with opening line, 'My son, behold the tide already spent', as an 
unpublished sonnet found in the same MS. as ''Through Cumbrian 
Wilds", v. Appendix III, Vol. Ill, supra, p. 409. 

On Canute and Alfred W. also wrote two Ecclesiastical Sonnets 
i. xx vi and xxx. 

114. "He caused his royal seat to be set on the shore, while the 
tide was coming in ; and with all the state that royalty could put into 
his countenance, said thus to the sea : 'Thou, Sea, belongest to me, 
and the land whereon I sit is mine; nor hath any one unpunished 
resisted my commands ; I charge thee come no further upon my land, 
neither presume to wet the feet of thy sovereign lord.' But the sea, 
as before 9 came rolling on, and without reverence both wet and dashed 
him. Wherat the King quickly rising wished all about him to behold 
and consider the weak and frivolous power of a King, and that none 
indeed deserved the name of King, but he whose eternal laws both heaven, 
earth, and sea obey." Milton, History of Britain, bk. vi. 

422 NOTES 

p. 92. XXIV. "A little onward lend thy guiding hand" "The com- 
plaint in my eyes which gave occasion to this address to my 
daughter first showed itself as a consequence of inflammation, caught 
at the top of Kirkstone, when I was over-heated by having carried 
up the ascent my eldest son, a lusty infant [in Jan. 1805: v. E.L 9 p. 
432]. Frequently has the disease recurred since, leaving my eyes in a 
state which has often prevented my reading for months, and makes 
me at this day incapable of bearing without injury any strong light 
by day or night. My acquaintance with books has therefore been far 
short of my wishes ; and on this account, to acknowledge the services 
daily and hourly done me by my family and friends, this note is 
written." I. F. 

1-2. From Samson Agonistes, init. 

11. The reference, in the early text, to Antigone alludes to her 
guidance of her blind father Oedipus from Thebes to Attica. 

31. "abrupt abyss"]: From Paradise Lost, ii. 405, "The dark, 
unbottomed, infinite Abyss", and ii. 409, "the vast Abrupt". 

32. plumy vans] : From Paradise Itegaind, iv. 583. 

4955. (app. crit.) everlasting gates . . . portals!] reminiscent of 
Paradise Lost, vii. 565-76. 

p. 94. XXV. ODE TO LYCOBIS: " The discerning reader, who is 
aware that in the poem of 'Ellen Irwin' I was desirous of throwing 
the reader at once out of the old ballad, so as, if possible, to preclude 
a comparison between that mode of dealing with the subject and the 
mode I meant to adopt may here perhaps perceive that this poem 
originated in the four last lines of the first stanza. Those specks of 
snow, reflected in the lake and so transferred, as it were, to the sub- 
aqueous sky, reminded me of the swans which the fancy of the ancient 
classic poets yoked to the car of Venus. Hence the tenor of the whole 
first stanza, and the name of Lycoris, which with some readers who 
think mythology and classical allusion too far-fetched and therefore 
more or less unnatural and affected will tend to unrealize the senti- 
ment that pervades these verses. But sufely one who has written so 
much in verse as I have done may be allowed to retrace his steps 
in the regions of fancy which delighted him in his boyhood, when he 
first became acquainted with the Greek and Roman Poets. Before 
I read Virgil I was so strongly attached to Ovid, whose Metamor- 
phoses I read at school, that I was quite in a passion whenever I 
found him, in books of criticism, placed below Virgil. As to Homer, 
I was never weary of travelling over the scenes through which he led 
me. Classical literature affected me by its own beauty. But the 
truths of scripture having been entrusted to the dead languages, and 
these fountains having been recently laid open at the Reformation, 
an importance and a sanctity were at that period attached to classical 
literature that extended, as is obvious in Milton's "Lycidas", for 
example, both to its spirit and form in a degree that can never be 

NOTES 423 

revived. No doubt the hackneyed and lifeless use into which mytho- 
logy fell towards the close of the seventeenth century, and which 
continued through the eighteenth, disgusted the general reader with 
all allusion to it in modern verse ; and though, in deference to this 
disgust, and also in a measure participating in it, I abstained in my 
earlier writings from all introduction of pagan fable surely, even 
in its humble form, it may ally itself with real sentiment as I can 
truly affirm it did in the present case." I. F. W. took the name 
Lycoris from Virgil, Eclogue, x : it has no special significance for him. 

p. 96. XXVI. To THE SAME: "This as well as the preceding and 
the two that follow were composed in front of Kydal Mount and 
during my walks in the neighbourhood. Nine-tenths of my verses 
have been murmured out in the open air; and here let me repeat 
what I believe has already appeared in print. One day a stranger 
having walked round the garden and grounds of Rydal Mount asked 
one of the female servants who happened to be at the door, permis- 
sion to see her master's study. 'This', said she, leading him forward, 
*is my master's library, where he keeps his books, but his study is 
out of doors.' After a long absence from home it has more than once 
happened that some one of my cottage neighbours has said 'Well, 
there he is ; we are glad to hear him booing about again.' Once more, 
in excuse for so much egotism, let me say, these notes are written for my 
familiar friends, and at their earnest request. Another time a gentle- 
man whom James had conducted through the grounds asked him 
what kind of plants throve best there : after a little consideration he 
answered 'Laurels.' 'That is', said the stranger 'as it should be ; 
don't you know that the Laurel is the emblem of Poetry, and that the 
Poets used on public occasions to be crowned with it ?' James stared 
when the question was first put, but was doubtless much pleased 
with the information." I. F. 

Though the date of this poem as a whole is doubtless 1817, 11. 41 
ff. have a much earlier source, and some of them seem to have 
haunted W.'s mind for nearly twenty years. In the draft of Nutting 
written in 1798 (v. Vol. II, p. 503) is found a form of 11. 42-5, and in 
MS. M (1803-4) are the following verses under the title Travelling: 

This is the spot : how mildly does the sun 
Shine in between the fading leaves ! the air 
In the habitual silence of this wood 
Is more than silent ; and this bed of heath 
Where shall we find so sweet a resting-place ? 
Come, let me see thee sink into a dream 
Of quiet thoughts, protracted till thine eye 
Be calm as water when the winds are gone 
And no one can tell whither. My sweet Friend, 
We two have had such happy hours together 
That my heart melts in me to think of it. 

424 NOTES 

This is the poem to which D. W. refers in her Journal, May 4, 1802 : 
"I repeated verses to William while he was in bed ; he was soothed and 
I left him. 'This is the spot' over and over again." 

And at the close of a note-book containing the Duddon Sonnets is 
the following: 

Here let us rest, here, where the gentle beams 
Of noontide stealing in between the boughs 
Illuminate their faded leaves ; the air 
In the habitual silence of this wood 
Is more than silent, and this tuft of heath 
Decked with the fulness of its (bloom) flowers presents 
As beautiful a coach as ere was framed. 
Come let us venture to exchange the pomp 1 
Of wide -spread landscape for the internal wealth 
Of quiet thought, protracted etc. as text 43-51, but in 1. 46 
blissful for happy. 

p. 98. . XXVII and XXVIII. v. I. F. note to XXVI, and for the 
redbreast's autumn song cf. Prelude, vii. 18-31. 

p. 99. XXVIII. 14. my leaf is sere] Macbeth, v. iii. 23. 

42. fierce vindictive song] H. T. B/hoades has suggested that here, 
perhaps, W. was recalling Horace, Odes, iv. ix. 7, "Alcaei minaces 

438. A reference to Sappho's ode to Aphrodite. 

50. The wreck of Herculanean lore] K. notes that during the 
excavations in Herculaneum in 1752, 1,800 charred rolls of papyri 
were discovered, and it was hoped that they would add greatly to the 
corpus of classical literature. Simonides, born in Ceos, 556 B.C., one 
of the most celebrated of Greek lyric poets, was endeared to W. by 
the story told of him to which W. refers in his sonnet, "I find it written 
of Simonides" (v. Vol. Ill, p. 408, and note, p. 573), and in his Essay 
on Epitaphs. 

p. 101. XXIX. MEMORY: v. I. F. note to Written in a Blank Leaf 
of Macpherson's Ossian (p. 38), p. 407 above. 

p. 102. XXX. This Lawn, a carpet all alive: "This Lawn is the 
sloping one approaching the kitchen-garden, and was made out of it. 
Hundreds of times have I watched the dancing of shadows amid a 
press of sunshine, and other beautiful appearances of light and shade, 
flowers and shrubs. What a contrast between this and the Cabbages 
and Onions and Carrots that used to grow there on a piece of ugly- 
shaped unsightly ground! No reflection, however, either upon Cab- 
bages or Onions ; the latter we know were worshipped by the Egyp- 
tians, and he must have a poor eye for beauty who has not observed 
how much of it there is in the form and colour which Cabbages and 

1 Corr. to Come, thus invited, venture to exchange 

The pomp of wide-spread landscape for a mood. 

NOTES 425 

plants of that genus exhibit through the various stages of their 
growth and decay. A richer display of colour in vegetable nature can 
scarcely be conceived than Coleridge, my Sister, and I saw in a bed of 
Potato-plants in blossom near a hut upon the moor between Inver- 
sneyd and Loch Katrine. These blossoms were of such extraordinary 
beauty and richness that no one could have passed them without 
notice. But the sense must be cultivated through the mind before we 
can perceive these inexhaustible treasures of Nature, for such they 
really are, without the least necessary reference to the utility of her 
productions, or even to the laws whereupon, as we learn by research, 
they are dependent. Some are of opinion that the habit of analysing, 
decomposing, and anatomizing is inevitably unfavourable to the per- 
ception of beauty. People are led into this mistake by over-looking 
the fact that such processes being to a certain extent within the reach 
of a limited intellect, we are apt to ascribo to them that insensibility 
of which they are in truth the effect and not the cause. Admiration 
and love, to which all knowledge truly vital must tend, are felt by men 
of real genius in proportion as their discoveries in natural Philosophy 
are enlarged ; and the beauty in form of a plant or an animal is not 
made less but more apparent as a whole by more accurate insight into 
its constituent properties and powers. A Savant who is not also a Poet in 
soul and a religionist in heart is a feeble and unhappy Creature." I. F. 

6. strenuous idleness] A phrase already used by W. in Prelude, iv. 
378. W. owed it to Horace, Epistles, I. xi. 28, "strenua nos exercet 
inertia", v. also E.L., p. 48. 

p. 102. XXXI. HUMANITY: Note under heading: ". . . at this day". 
* 'There is a remarkable one upon a Moorland Eminence overlooking 
the Vale of the Nid in Yorkshire", MS. "These verses and those entitled 
Liberty were composed as one piece, which Mrs. Wordsworth com- 
plained of as unwieldy and ill -proportioned ; and accordingly it was 
divided into two on her judicious recommendation." I. F. 

32. Descending to the worm in charity] I am indebted, here, to a 
passage in one of Mr. Digby's valuable works W. (i.e. Kenelm 
Digby, 1800-80, author of The Broadstone of Honour, 1822, enlarged 

77. Stone-walls a prisoner make] Lovelace, To Altheafrom Prison, 45. 

77-94. Cf. Exc. VIII and IX, 113-28. 

83. "Slaves cannot breathe in England"] From Cowper, The Task, 
ii. 40. 

89-90. Idol, falsely called "the Wealth of Nations"] Cf. Prelude, 
xiii. 77. 

p. 106. XXXII. The unremitting voice of nightly streams: In one 
manuscript this poem is headed Introduction to the Somnambulist 
(v. p. 49). 

5. (app. crit.) at dewy eve the shutting flowers] Cf. Paradise Lost, 
ix. 278, "at shut of evening flowers". 

426 NOTES 

10-17. (app. crit.) "The Hermit's Cell, nr. Knaresboro." MS. 
marginal note. 

p. 107. XXXIII. THOUGHTS ON THE SEASONS: "Written at Rydal 
Mount, 1829." I. F. 

p. 107. XXXIV. To : "To I W on the birth of her 

first child. Written at Moresby near Whitehaven, when I was on a 
visit to my son, then Incumbent of that small living. 

"While I ana dictating these notes to my Friend, Miss Fenwick, Janu- 
ary 24, 1843, the Child upon whose birth these verses were written is 
under my roof, and is of a disposition so promising that the wishes 
and prayers and prophecies which I then breathed forth in verse are, 
through God's mercy, likely to be realized." I. F. Isabella (n6e 
Curwen), wife of John W. The quotation that heads the poem is from 
Lucretius De Rerum Natura, v. 223. 

p. 110. XXXV. THE WABNING: "These lines were composed during 
the fever spread through the Nation by the Reform Bill. As the 
motives which led to this measure, and the good or evil which has 
attended or has risen from it, will be duly appreciated by future 
Historians, there is no call for dwelling on the subject in this place. 
I will content myself with saying that the then condition of the 
people's mind is not, in these verses, exaggerated." I. F. 

In a letter to his family W. spoke of this poem as "a sober and 
sorrowful sequel to [XXXIV] which I fear none of you will like" (L. Y., 
p. 645). It represents, indeed, the lowest depths of depression to which 
W. sank in his poetry, though it can be paralleled by many places in 
his letters of the period. 

The MS. copy of the Postscript at the end of the volume of 1835, 
sent to the Printer, contains the following opening paragraphs, after- 
wards cancelled : 

"It has from time to time been the practice of the Author of this 
volume, since he was first interested in public affairs, to express in 
verse the feelings with which he regarded them. Accordingly it is 
known to all who have read his poems, that he rejoiced in the opening 
of the French Revolution ; and it will appear hereafter, from his un- 
published works, hw deeply he deplored the excesses into which the 
French people were betrayed in its progress. His Excursion, Sonnets 
and other Pieces afford abundant evidence how he abhorred the abuses 
of Power that Buonaparte fell into ; how he sympathized with the 
Nations that suffered from the Despot's reckless ambitions ; and how 
he exalted in their deliverance. After the battle of Waterloo, the 
course of public events, however interesting to an observing and 
thoughtful Mind, was of a less exciting and therefore of a less poetic 
character, and he confined himself to subjects not so discordant in 
their elements. The lines, however, in the present volume entitled 
*The Warning', both by the occasion that suggested them, and the 
manner in which the subject is treated, show that recent events have 

NOTES 427 

intimately touched his affections, and thrown him back upon sensa- 
tions akin to those he was troubled with in the early period of his life. 
That Poem is indeed so little in harmony with the general tenor of 
his writings and with the contents of this volume in particular, that 
it seems to require from him some notice in plain prose. It was 
written for one of the best reasons which in a poetical case can be 
given, viz. that the author could not help writing it ; and it is pub- 
lished because, if there ever was a time when such a warning could 
be of the least service to any portion of his Countrymen, that time is 
surely not passed away. 

"The agitation attendant upon the introduction, and carrying of 
the Reform Bill has there called forth a strain of reprehension, which 
as far as concerns the Leaders of that agitation requires neither 
explanation nor apology ; they are spoken of with a warmth of indig- 
nant reproof which no man free in spirit will condemn, if it will 
appear that the feeling has been kindled by reflective patriotism: 
but as to the misled multitude, if there be a word that bears hard 
upon them, the Author would find a difficulty in forgiving himself; 
for even the semblance of such a thought would be a deviation from 
his habitual feelings towards the poor and humbly employed; the 
greater part of his life has been passed among them, he has not been 
an unthinking observer of their condition, and from the strongest con- 
viction that so many of that Class are seeking their happiness in ways 
which cannot lead to it those admonitions proceeded." 

In the same MS. a Note following the text of the poem has likewise 
been cancelled : 

" Aware that expressions of regret for the past are seldom of much 
use as a preventive of future evils, the Author has not admitted 
without reluctance the above into a Collection of Poems so different 
from it in character. But it was poured out in sincerity of heart 
and the heart of a Poet may in some cases be trusted, where the 
opinion of a practical Statesman is erroneous : at all events, the Verses, 
however profitless or insignificant they may appear to many, could 
not have been suppressed, without shrinking from what the Writer 
felt (and he hopes without presumption) to be a duty to his Country 
in the present peril of her social Institutions." 

H. C. R. was perhaps instrumental in making W. withdraw both 
these paragraphs. He was acting as his amanuensis in March 1835 
for the Notes to the volume of 1835, and writes : "My interference was 
not always in vain. W. will aggravate antipathies by his polemical 
notes" (H. C. R. on Books and their Writers, ed. E. Morley, pp. 458-9). 

201* "The Warning was composed on horseback while I was 
riding from Moresby in a snowstorm. Hence [the] simile." W. (quoted 
M. ii. 476). 

23. Lay,] This emendation from the Lay. of the texts was sug- 
gested by Mr. Nowell C. Smith. 

428 NOTES 

95. If to expedience principle must bow] "Sound minds find their 
expediency in principles; unsound their principles in expediency." 
W. to J. K. Miller, Dec. 1831 (L.Y., p. 591). 

p. 114. XXXVI. If this great world of joy and pain: Another re- 
flection on the state of the country at the time of the Reform Bill. 
v. W.'s letter, Dec. 6, 1833, where the poem is quoted under the head- 
ing "Addressed to Revolutionists of All Classes' 5 (L.Y., p. 680). 

Ken's 'Morning and Evening Hymns' are, as they deserve to be, 
familiarly known. Many other hymns have also been written on the 
same subject ; but, not being aware of any being designed for Noon- 
day, I was induced to compose these verses. Often one has occasion 
to observe Cottage children carrying, in their baskets, dinner to their 
Fathers engaged with their daily labours in the fields and woods. 
How gratifying would it be to me could I be assured that any portion 
of these stanzas had been sung by such a domestic concert under such 
circumstances. A friend of mine has told me that she introduced this 
Hymn into a Village -school which she superintended, and the stanzas 
in succession furnished her with texts to comment upon in a way 
which without difficulty was made intelligible to the children, and in 
which they obviously took delight, and they were taught to sing it 
to the tune of the old 100th Psalm." I. F. 

the following poem originated in the lines 'How delicate the leafy 
veil', etc. [To MAY XXXIX, 1. 81] My daughter and I left Rydal 
Mount upon a tour through our mountains with Mr. and Mrs. Carr 
in the month of May, 1826, and as we were going up the vale of 
Newlands I was struck with the appearance of the little Chapel 
gleaming through the veil of half-opened leaves ; and the feeling 
which was then conveyed to my mind was expressed in the stanza 
that follows. As in the case of 'Liberty' and 'Humanity', my first 
intention was to write only one poem, but subsequently I broke it 
into two, making additions to each part so as to produce a consistent 
and appropriate whole." I. F. 

An early draft in D. W.'s hand with additions by W. W. contains 
stanzas from both this poem and the next. 

p. 118. XXXIX. To MAY: "As I passed through the tame and 
manufacture -disfigured country of Lancashire I was reminded by the 
faded leaves, of Spring, and threw off a few stanzas of an ode to May." 
W. to W. R. Hamilton, Nov. 1830 (L.Y., p. 538). 

59. rathe primrose] Lycidas, 142. 

78-80. gentle mists etc.} Cf. Anacreon, 37-45 (Vol. I, p. 262) and 
note (p. 361). 

p. 120. XL. LINES SUGGESTED BY A PORTRAIT, etc. : "This portrait 
has hung for many years in our principal sitting-room, and repre- 
sents J. Q. [Jemima Quillinan] as she was when a girl. The picture, 

NOTES 420 

though it is somewhat thinly painted, has much merit in tone and 
general effect ; it is chiefly valuable, however, from the sentiment that 
pervades it. The Anecdote of the saying of the Monk in sight of 
Titian's picture was told in this house by Mr. Wilkie, and was, I 
believe, first communicated to the Public in this Poem, the former 
portion of which I was composing at the time. Southey heard the 
story from Miss Hutchinson, and transferred it to 'The Doctor' ; but 
it is not easy to explain how my friend Mr. Rogers, in a note subse- 
quently added to his 'Italy', was led to speak of the same remarkable 
words having many years before been spoken in his hearing by a 
Monk or Priest in front of a picture of the Last Supper, placed over 
a Refectory -table in a convent at Padua." I. F. 

"Talking of composition [Rogers] showed me a note to his 'Italy', 
which, he says, took him a fortnight to write. It consists of a very 
few lines. W. has amplified the idea of this note in his poem on the 
picture of Miss Quillinan, by Stone. Rogers says, and I think truly, 
that the prose is better than the poem. The thought intended to be 
expressed is, that the picture is the substance, and the beholders are 
the shadows." H. C. R., Diary for Feb. 23, 1837. Rogers's note runs: 
" 'You admire that picture,' said an old Dominican to me at Padua, 
as I stood contemplating a Last Supper in the Refectory of his 
Convent, the figures as large as the life. 'I have sat at my meals 
before it for seven and forty years ; and such are the changes that 
have taken place among us so many have come and gone in the 
time that, when I look upon the company there upon those who 
are sitting at that table, silent as they are I am sometimes inclined 
to think that we, and not they, are the shadows. 1 " 

The poem is headed in the MS. "Poem by W. on Mima's portrait 
by Stone." Appended to it is the following: "Wilkie was the painter 
to whom this affecting incident occurred (I know it is not proper to 
say 'incident occurred', but I know not what other word to use) and 
he told it to me when at Rydal the other day." There seems, there- 
fore, little doubt that Rogers owed the story to Wordsworth. 

p. 125. XLII. So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive: The incident 
which gave rise to the composition of this poem has been recorded 
by several persons. R. P. Graves recalls the walk to Longrigg Tarn 
with W., Professor Archer Butler, Sir William Hamilton, and Julius 
C. Hare: "The splendour of a July noon surrounded us, and lit up 
the landscape with the Langdale Pikes soaring above, and the bright 
Tarn shining beneath ; and when the poet's eyes were satisfied with 
their feast on the beauties familiar to them, they sought relief in the 
search, to them a happy vital habit, for new beauty in the flower- 
enamelled turf at his feet. There his attention was arrested by a fair 
smooth stone, of the size of an ostrich's egg, seeming to imbed at its 
centre, and at the same time to display a dark star-shaped fossil of 
most distinct outline. Upon closer inspection this proved to be the 

430 NOTES 

shadow of a daisy projected upon it with extraordinary precision 
by the intense light of an almost vertical sun. The poet drew the 
attention of the rest of the party to the minute but beautiful pheno- 
menon, and gave expression at the time to thoughts suggested by it." 
And on Sept. 14, 1844, J. C. Hare wrote to W. : "One of the brightest 
days in those happy three weeks was that on which we accompanied 
you to Loughrigg Tarn; for that walk bore its part in ripening our 
previous friendship, if I may not call it our fraternal affection, into 
something still dearer and better ; nor shall I ever forget your stopping 
and drawing our attention to the exquisitely pencilled shadow the 
daisy cast upon a neighbouring stone. I remember saying at the 
time 'We shall have a sonnet upon it,' and this probably has been 
fulfilled, I rejoice to learn, save that, instead of the sonnet, you have 
adopted a new form of verse, that is, new, I believe, in your writings, 
in composing the beautiful triplets you have had the kindness to 
send." . 

16. (app. crit.) K. misread "bond" for "bred". 

OF PABADISE: "I cannot forbear to record that the last seven lines 
of this Poem were composed in bed during the night of the day on 
which my sister Sara Hutchinson died about 6 p.m., and it was 
the thought of her innocent and beautiful life that, through faith, 
prompted the words 

*On wings that fear no glance of God's pure sight, 
No tempest from his breath. 5 

The reader will find two poems on pictures of this bird among my 
Poems. I will here observe that in a far greater number of instances 
than have been mentioned in these notes one Poem has, as in this case, 
grown out of another, either because I felt the subject had been 
inadequately treated, or that the thoughts and images suggested in 
course of composition have been such as I found interfered with the 
unity indispensable to every work of Art, however humble in charac- 
ter." I. F. For -the other poem on this subject v. Vol. II, p. 320. 
S. H. died on June 23rd, 1835. 

These sonnets were first placed in one group in 1845. 

In the 1835 volume this sonnet was placed after "If this great world 
of joy and pain", and the following note was appended: "This sonnet 
ought to have followed No. VII in the series of 1831 [i.e. Composed in 
the Glen of Loch Etive, v. vol. Ill, p. 268], but was omitted by mistake." 
In ed. 1837 it had that position. 

NOTES 431 

p. 128. II. UPON THE LATE GENEBAL FAST: In 1832 this sonnet was 
placed among Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces, with the title Sonnet on 
the late General Fast, March 21, 1832, in 1837 with the Miscellaneous 
Sonnets, Part III. The "General Fast" was enjoined because of 
a serious epidemic of cholera which had broken out in the previous 
year (v. L.Y., p. 585). 

p. 129. III. Said Secrecy to Cowardice and Fraud: First published 
in the sonnet -volume of 1838 in a note to Protest Against the Ballot, 
(v. Vol. Ill, p. 411). It was preceded in the note by the following 
comment: "Having in this notice alluded only in general terms to 
the mischief which, in my opinion, the Ballot would bring along with 
it, without especially branding its immoral and anti -social tendency, 
(for which no political advantages, were they a thousand times 
greater than those presumed upon, could be a compensation) I have 
been impelled to subjoin a reprobation of it upon that score. In no 
part of my writings have I mentioned the name of any contemporary, 
that of Buonaparte only excepted, but for the purpose of eulogy; 
and therefore, as in the concluding verse of what follows there is a 
deviation from this rule (for the blank will be easily filled up) I have 
excluded the Sonnet from the body of the collection, and placed it here 
as a public record of my detestation, both as a man and a citizen, of 
the proposed contrivance." 

A MS. copy of the sonnet, with "Grote" in place of the " " in 

1. 14 is found in a letter of W. to Dora W., March 1838. On March 
10, 1838, he sent it to John W., saying that he could not include it 
in the sonnet -volume, but suggesting that he might send it, anony- 
mously, to the Canterbury Chronicle (v. L.Y., p. 918). 

George Grote (1794-1871), the historian of Greece, was one of the 
"philosophical Radicals". He was M.P. for London 1832-41. In 
politics he was especially associated with voting by ballot, on which 
he wrote a pamphlet in 1821, and which he advocated in the House 
in four motions (1833, 1835, 1836, 1839) and two bills (1836 and 1837). 
His cause was only gained shortly before his death. 

p. 129. IV. Blest Statesman he etc, : 14. (v. app. crit.) "All change is 
perilous and all chance unsound." Spenser. W. (F.Q. v. xii. 30). 

French Revolution had appeared in 1837. 

9-10. the wrath of Man Works not the righteousness of God] 
Epistle of St. James, i. 20. 

p. 131. VIII. Men of the Western World: These lines were written 
several years ago, when reports prevailed of cruelties committed in 
many parts of America, by men making a law of their own passions. 
A far more formidable, as being a more deliberate mischief, has 
appeared among those States, which have lately broken faith with 
the public creditor in a manner so infamous. I cannot, however, but 
look at both evils under a similar relation to inherent good, and hope 

432 NOTES 

that the time is not distant when our brethren of the West will wipe 
off this stain from their name and nation. W. 1842. 

Additional Note : I am happy to add that this anticipation is already 
partly realised; and that the reproach addressed to the Pennsylva- 
nians in the next sonnet is no longer applicable to them. I trust that 
those other States to which it may yet apply will soon follow the 
example now set them by Philadelphia, and redeem their credit with 
the world. W. 1850. v. note to next sonnet. The MS. readings in 
app. crit. are from W.'s letter to H. Reed, Dec. 23, 1839. 

5. (app. crit.) "altered . . . not in the hope of substituting a better 
verse, but merely to avoid the repetition of the word 'brook' which 
occurs as a Rhyme in the Pilgrim Fathers". W. to H. Reed, Sept. 4, 

13. Cf. Sonnet, Vol. Ill, p. 119. England! the time is come . . . 
1. 3. "The truth should now be better understood." 

p. 132. IX. To THE PENNSYLVANIANS : Written at some date 
between 1841 and the end of Feb. 1845. W.'s correspondence with 
Henry Reed shows that during all this period he was much troubled 
by the stoppage of payment of Pennsylvanian Bonds, in which both 
his brother Christopher and Miss Fenwick had large holdings. His 
fears (encouraged by a rumour "from a private quarter", which he 
reported to Reed on Nov. 18, 1844) that the State of Pennsylvania 
would repudiate their obligations, proved groundless, for in Feb. 1845 
payment was resumed and the note (v. supra) added to his ed. of 1860 
was inserted at the request of Reed made in two letters dated April 2 
and Dec. 10, 1849 that note was probably W.'s last composition 
for the press. 

9. William Perm (1644-1718), Quaker and founder of Pennsyl- 
vania, the land for which was granted to him by the Duke of York in 
March 1680-1. 

p. 132. X. AT BOLOGNA: "This and the following were suggested 
at Bologna, and other cities in the North of Italy." MS. note. In 
1842 they were published among the Memorials of a Tour in Italy, 
1837. For their significance in the history of W.'s political thought 
v. Batho, The Later Wordsworth, pp. 146-9. 

p. 134. XIII. YOUNG ENGLAND: "W. was in excellent spirits, 
and repeated with a solemn beauty, quite peculiar to himself, a 
sonnet he had lately composed on 'Young England', and his indignant 
burst, 'Where, then, is old, our dear old England ?', was one of the 
finest bursts of nature and art combined that I ever heard." Lady 
Richardson, Reminiscences, Feb. 9, 1845. 

p. 134. XIV. Feel for the wrongs to universal ken: "This sonnet is 
recommended to the perusal of the Anti-Corn Law Leaguers, the 
Political Economists, and of all those who consider that the Evils 
tinder which we groan are to be removed or palliated by measures 
ungoverned by moral and religious principles." I. F. 

NOTES 433 


In a long review of W.'s Sonnets , 1838, in The Quarterly for Dec. 
1841, Sir Henry Taylor included "a short series written two years ago, 
which we have been favoured with a permission to present to the 
public for the first time. It was suggested by the recent discussions in 
parliament and elsewhere on the subject of Punishment by Death." 

In 1836 a report by the Commissioners on Criminal Law had been 
laid before Parliament, with the result that in July 1837 Acts were 
passed which removed the death penalty from about 200 offences (for 
most of which it was already in practice obsolete), and left it appli- 
cable only to high treason, murder and attempted murder, rape, arson 
with danger to life, piracies, burglaries, and robberies when aggrava- 
ted by cruelty and violence. But some members of the House, who 
had a considerable backing in the country, had conscientious objec- 
tions to the infliction of the death penalty for any crime, and as an 
instalment towards total abolition brought in a Bill to remove it from 
all offences except treason and murder ; as a compromise the crime of 
rape was further omitted from the list. "Thus", says Taylor, "the 
broad question which is left for the country to look at, in respect to 
the punishment by death, is in effect its abolition. It is to this ques- 
tion that Mr. W.'s Sonnets refer; and the general drift of the senti- 
ments which they express is that there is a deeper charity and a more 
enlarged view of religious obligations than that which would dictate 
such a measure in this country in the present state of society." The 
sonnets follow, with Taylor's running commentary upon them. 

p. 135. I. 10. pass'd] v. app. crit. Cf. Note to Artegal and Elidure, 
195 (Vol. II, p. 469), and Duddon Sonnet XV. 14, past corr. to pass'd. 

p. 136. III. 1. The Roman Consul] Lucius Junius Brutus who 
incited the Romans to expel the Tarquins, and upon their banishment 
was elected first consul : he put to death his two sons who had attemp- 
ted to restore the Tarquins. 

p. 138. VIII. 14. "wild justice of revenge"] Bacon's Essays. Cf. 
Revenge, init. : * 'Revenge is a kinde of Wilde Justice ; which the more 
Man's Nature runs to, the more ought Law to weed it out." 


poem opened, when first written, with a paragraph that has been 
transferred as an introduction to the first series of my Scotch Memo- 
rials. The journey, of which the first part is here described, was from 
Grasmere to Bootle on the south-west coast of Cumberland, the whole 
among mountain roads through a beautiful country, and we had fine 
weather. The verses end with our breakfast at the head of Yewdale 
in a yeoman's house, which, like all the other property in that 

917.17 IV F f 

434 NOTES 

sequestered vale, has passed or is passing into the hands of Mr. James 
Marshall of Monk Coniston, in Mr. Knott's, the late owner's, time 
called Waterhead. Our hostess married a Mr. Oldfield, a Lieut, in 
the Navy: they lived together for some time at Hackett where she 
still resides as his widow. It was in front of that house, on the 
mountain side, near which stood the Peasant who, while we were 
passing at a distance, saluted us, waving a kerchief in her hand as 
described in the Poem. (This matron and her husband were then 
residing at the Hackett. The house and its inmates are referred to in 
the fifth book of the 'Excursion', in the passage beginning 

'You behold, 

High on the breast of yon dark mountain, dark 
With stony barrenness, a shining speck.' J. C. 1 ) 

The dog which we met with soon after our starting belonged to Mr. 
Rowlandson, who for forty years was curate of Grasmere in place of 
the rector, who lived to extreme old age in a state of insanity. Of this 
Mr. R. much might be said both with reference to his character, and 
the way in which he was regarded by his parishioners. He was a man 
of a robust frame, had a firm voice and authoritative manner, of 
strong natural talents, of which he was himself conscious, for he has 
been heard to say (it grieves me to add with an oath) 'If I had been 
brought up at college by I should have been a Bishop.' Two vices 
used to struggle in him for mastery, avarice and the love of strong 
drink: but avarice, as is common in like cases, always got the better 
of its opponent ; for, though he was often intoxicated, it was never, 
I believe, at his own expense. As has been said of one in a more 
exalted station, he would take any given quantity. I have heard a 
story of him which is worth the telling. One summer's morning, our 
Grasmere curate, after a night's carouse in the vale of Langdale, on 
his return home, having reached a point near which the whole of the 
vale of Grasmere might be seen with the lake immediately below him, 
stepped aside and sat down on the turf. After looking for some time 
at the landscape, then in the perfection of its morning beauty, he 
exclaimed 'Good-God, that I should have led so long a life in such 
a place!' This no doubt was deeply felt by him at the time, but I 
am not authorised to say that any noticeable amendment followed : 
penuriousness strengthened upon him as his body grew feebler with 
age. He had purchased property and kept some land in his own 
hands, but he could not find in his heart to lay out the necessary hire 
for labourers at the proper season, and consequently he has often 
been seen in half -dotage working his hay in the month of November 
by moonlight, a melancholy sight which I myself have witnessed. 
Notwithstanding all that has been said, this man, on account of his 

1 "J. C." i.e., John Carter, Wordsworth's clerk, who saw the "I. F." notes 
through the press in 1857. The reference is to Exc. v. 670 ff. 

NOTES 435 

talents and superior education, was looked up to by his parishioners, 
who, without a single exception, lived at that time (and most of them 
upon their own small inheritances) in a state of republican equality, 
a condition favorable to the growth of kindly feelings among them, 
and in a striking degree exclusive to temptations to gross vice and 
scandalous behaviour. As a Pastor their curate did little or nothing 
for them ; but what could more strikingly set forth the efficacy of the 
Church of England through its Ordinances and Liturgy than that, in 
spite of the unworthiness of the Minister, his Church was regularly 
attended ; and, though there was not much appearance in his flock of 
what might be called animated piety, intoxication was rare, and dis- 
solute morals unknown ? With the Bible they were for the most part 
well acquainted ; and, as was strikingly shown when they were under 
affliction, must have been supported and comforted by habitual 
belief in those truths which it is the aim of the Church to inculcate. 
' 'Loughrigg Tarn. This beautiful pool and the surrounding scene are 
minutely described in my little Book upon the Lakes. Sir G. H. B., 
in the earlier part of his life, was induced, by his love of Nature and 
the art of painting, to take up his abode at Old Brathay, about three 
miles from this spot, so that he must have seen it under many aspects ; 
and he was so much pleased with it that he purchased the Tarn with 
a view to build, near it, such a residence as is alluded to in this Epistle. 
Baronets and knights were not so common in that day as now, and 
Sir Michael le Fleming, not liking to have a rival in this kind of dis- 
tinction so near him, claimed a sort of Lordship over the Territory, 
and showed dispositions little in unison with those of Sir. G. Beau- 
mont, who was eminently a lover of peace. The project of building 
was in consequence given up, Sir G. retaining possession of the Tarn. 
Many years afterwards a Kendal tradesman born upon its banks 
applied to me for the purchase of it, and accordingly it was sold for 
the sum that had been given for it, and the money was laid out under 
my direction upon a substantial oak fence for a certain number of 
yew trees to be planted in Grasmere churchyard ; two were planted 
in each enclosure, with a view to remove, after a certain time, the one 
which throve the least. After several years, the stouter plant being 
left, the others were taken up and placed in other parts of the same 
churchyard, and were adequately fenced at the expense and under 
the care of the late Mr. Barber, Mr. Greenwood, and myself: the whole 
eight are now thriving, and are already an ornament to a place which, 
during late years, has lost much of its rustic simplicity by the intro- 
duction of iron palisades to fence off family burying-grounds, and by 
numerous monuments, some of them in very bad taste ; from which 
this place of burial was in my memory quite free. See the lines in the 
sixth book of 'The Excursion' beginning 'Green is the churchyard', 
The 'Epistle' to which these notes refer, though written so fax back 
as 1804 [1811 ED.], was carefully revised so late as 1842, previous 

436 NOTES 

to its publication. I am loth to add, that it was never seen by the 
person to whom it is addressed. So sensible am I of the deficiencies 
in all that I write, and so far does everything that I attempt fall short 
of what I wish it to be, that even private publication, if such a term 
may be allowed, requires more resolution than I can command. I 
have written to give vent to my own mind, and not without hope 
that, some time or other, kindred minds might benefit by my labours : 
but I am inclined to believe I should never have ventured to send 
forth any verses of mine to the world if it had not been done on the 
pressure of personal occasions. Had I been a rich man, my produc- 
tions, like this 'Epistle', the tragedy of 'The Borderers', etc., would 
most likely have been confined to manuscript." I. F. 

For the delay in publishing the Epistle v. Note to Misc. Sonnets, 
Part I. iv (Vol. Ill, p. 419). 

There axe four manuscripts of the poem, the copy used for press, 
and three others very little earlier in date : that no one of them goes 
back to the date of composition is shown by the absence of the lines 
utilized for the introductory poem to the Scottish Tour of 1803. (v. 
Vol. Ill, p. 64.) 

5. Black Comb] v. Poems of Imagination, xxxviii (Vol. II, p. 289), 
Itinerary Poems of 1833, XII. supra, p. 30, and Inscriptions, VI, 
supra, p. 199. 

401. Phoebus . . . attendant on Thessalian flocks] Apollo, con- 
demned by Zeus to serve a mortal for a year, as a punishment for 
having slain the Cyclops, pastured the flocks of Admetus on the banks 
of the river Amphrysus. 

66. House of Keys] The Manx House of Commons, said to be so 
called because its twenty-four members are the keepers of the liberties 
of the people. 

77-88. Of. W. W.'s letter to Sir G. B. of Aug. 28, 1811 (M.Y., 
p. 469). 

84. telegraph] the name first applied to a device for signalling, an 
upright post with movable arms, invented by Chappe in France in 

111. Gowdar] Gowdar Crag is by Lodore Falls in Borrowdale, not, 
therefore, on the route of the travellers, but merely referred to as the 
scene of their charioteer's girlhood. 

113. those Infants dear] Catharine and Thomas; they both died 
in the following year (1812). (v. Epilogue to the poem.) 

153. Archimago] The false enchanter of the Faerie Queene; there 
is no reference to any specific incident in the poem. 

161. wild Arden's brakes] W. is probably thinking of the song of 
Amiens, "Under the green wood tree'*, in As You Like It, n. v. 

246-7. butter fit to lie Upon a lordly dish] A reference to the story 
of Jael and Sisera in the Song of Deborah (Judges v. 25). In one 
Manuscript "lordly dish" is put in italics. 

NOTES 437 

p. 151. II. GOLD AND SILVEB FISHES IN A VASE: "They were a 
present from Miss Jewsbury, of whom mention is made in the note at 
the end of the next poem. The fish were healthy to all appearance 
for a long time, but at last, for some cause we could not make out, 
they languished, and, one of them being dead, they were taken to the 
pool under the Pollard-oak. The apparently dying one lay on its side 
unable to move. I used to watch it, and about the tenth day it began 
to right itself, and in a few days was able to swim about with its 
companions. For many months they continued to prosper in their 
new place of abode ; but one night by an unusually great flood they 
were swept out of the pool, and perished to our great regret." I. F. 
On Miss Maria Jane Jewsbury v. L.Y., pp. 198 and 398, and Misc. 
Sonnets, in. xiii. A copy of the poem sent by Dora W. to E. Q. on 
Dec. 19, 1829, is headed with the motrto 
"O mutis quoque piscibus 
Donaturi cycni, si libeat, sonum!" 

From 1837 to 1843 it was placed among Poems of Sentiment and 

1 -2. lark ... at heaven's gate] From the song in Cymbeline, n. ii. 22. 

78. something more than dull content] From the Countess of 
Winchelsea, v. Misc. Sonnets, Dedication, Vol. Ill, p. 1, and W.'s 
note, p. 418. 

p. 153. III. LIBERTY: "The connection of this with the preceding 
Poem is sufficiently obvious." I. F. and v. I. F. note to Humanity, 
p. 425. The motto is taken from the opening sentences of Cowley's 
Essay on Liberty. 

2. Anna: Mrs. Fletcher, nee Jewsbury. 

8. living well] from Spenser, F.Q., I. ii. 43. 

60-5. Is there a cherished bird etc.] The Squieres Tale, 603-9. 

91. the path that winds by stealth] Mr. Nowell Smith notes the 
reminiscence of Horace, Epistles, i. xviii. 103: "An secretum iter et 
fallentis semita vitae." For "the Sabine farm he loved so well" (103) 
v. Odes, n. xviii, "Satis beatus unicis Sabinis", and for Blandusia ( 104) v. 
note to Musings near Aquapendente, 255-62, Vol. Ill, p. 492. 

11119. In a deep vision's intellectual scene] This passage on the 
* 'melancholy Cowley" is obviously reminiscent of Cowley's poem 
The Complaint, especially 11. 1-7 : 

In a deep Vision's intellectual scene 

Beneath a Bow'r for sorrow made, 

Th' uncomfortable shade, 

Of the black Yew's unlucky green, 

Mixt with the mourning Willow's careful gray, 

Where reverend Cham cuts out his famous way, 

The Melancholy Cowley lay. 

p. 158. IV. POOK ROBIN: "I often ask myself what will become 

438 NOTES 

of Rydal Mount after our day. Will the old walls and steps remain in 
front of the house and about the grounds, or will they be swept away 
with all the beautiful mosses and ferns and wild Geraniums and other 
flowers which their rude construction suffered and encouraged to 
grow among them ? This little wild flower 'Poor Robin' is here 
constantly courting my attention, and exciting what may be called 
a domestic interest with the varying aspects of its stalks and leaves 
and flowers. Strangely do the tastes of men differ according to their 
employment and habits of life. 'What a nice well would that be,' 
said a labouring man to me one day, 'if all that rubbish was cleared 
off.' The 'rubbish* was some of the most beautiful mosses and 
lichens and ferns and other wild growths that could possibly be seen. 
Defend us from the tyranny of trimness and neatness showing itself 
in this way! Chatterton says of freedom 'Upon her head wild 
weeds were spread;' and depend upon it if 'the marvellous boy' had 
undertaken to give Flora a garland, he would have preferred what we 
are apt to call weeds to garden -flowers. True taste has an eye for 
both. Weeds have been called flowers out of place. I fear the place 
most people would assign to them is too limited. Let them come near 
to our abodes, as surely they may without impropriety or disorder." 
I. F. One Manuscript gives the title : Ragged Robin (more commonly 
called Poor Robin). 

p. 159. V. THE GLEANEK: "This poem was first printed in the 
Annual called the 'Keepsake'. The Painter's name I arn not sure 
of, but I think it was Holmes." I. F. James Holmes (1777-1860), 
water-colourist and miniature-painter; several of his pictures were 
engraved in Miscellanies such as the "Amulet" and "Literary Sou- 
venir". But the poem was not exclusively inspired by the picture, 
for in March 1828 W. wrote to M. and Dora W. : "I have written one 
little piece, 34 lines, on the Picture of a beautiful Peasant Girl bearing 
a Sheaf of Corn. The Person I had in mind lives near the Blue Bell, 
Fillingham a sweet Creature, we saw her going to Hereford" (L.Y., 
p. 295). Before 1845 the poem was placed among Poems of Sentiment 
and Reflection. 

p. 160. VI. To A REDBREAST: "Almost the only verses by our 
lamented Sister, S. H." I. F. 

p. 160. VII. I know an aged Man: The Manuscript is dated Jan. 

p. 162. IX. FLOATING ISLAND: "My poor Sister takes a pleasure 
in repeating these verses which she composed not long before the 
beginning of her sad illness." I. F. 

p. 163. XI. Once I could hail: 3-4. No faculty yet given me to 
espy The dusky Shape] "Afterwards, when I could not avoid seeing it, 
I wondered at this, and the more so because, like most children, I had 
been in the habit of watching the Moon through all her changes, and 
had often continued to gaze at it while at the full, till half blinded." 

NOTES 439 

I. F. Before 1845 this poem was placed among Epitaphs and Elegiac 

p. 165. XII. To THE LADY FLEMING: "After thanking in prose 
Lady Fleming for the service she had done to her neighbourhood by 
erecting this Chapel, I have nothing to say beyond the expression of 
regret that the Architect did not furnish an elevation better suited 
to the site in a narrow mountain -pass, and, what is of more conse- 
quence, better constructed in the interior for the purposes of worship. 
It has no chancel ; the altar is unbecomingly confined ; the pews are 
so narrow as to preclude the possibility of kneeling ; there is no vestry ; 
and what ought to have been first mentioned, the font, instead of 
standing at its proper place at the Entrance, is thrust into the farther 
end of a little Pew. When these defects shall be pointed out to the 
munificent Patroness, they will, it is hoped, be corrected." I. F. 

W. dated the poem 1823, and on the second MS. is written Jan. 
24, 1823 ; but on Dec. 21, 1822, D. W. writes of it to H. C. R. as "just 
written''. But as she speaks of it as "about eighty Lines" and says 
that William will "send it hereafter" (instead of enclosing it with her 
letter) we may assume that at that date it was only in rough draft. 
MS. 1, in S. H.'s hand, which has 80 lines, is dated January. Before 
1845 this and the following poem were placed among Poems of Senti- 
ment and Reflection. 

59-60. Cf. Ode: Intimations of Immortality, 196-7. 
81. "bold bad" men] Faerie Queene, i. i. 37. 
83. "dark opprobrious den"] Paradise Lost, ii. 58. 
p. 168. XIII. ON THE SAME OCCASION: 4. The Mother Church is 
St. Oswald's, Grasmere. 

27. The day-spring from on high] St. Luke i. 78. 
p. 169. XIV. THE HOBN OF EGBEMONT CASTLE: The Story is a 
Cumberland tradition; I have heard it also related of the Hall of 
Hutton John, an antient residence of the Huddlestones, in a seques- 
tered Valley upon the River Dacor. W. 1807. "A tradition trans- 
ferred from the ancient mansion of Hutton John, the seat of the 
Huddlestones, to Egremont Castle." I. F. From 1816 to 1843 placed 
among Poems of the Imagination, in 1815 with the note: "This poem 
and the Ballad which follows it [i.e. Qoody Blake], as they rather refer 
to the imagination than are produced by it, would not have been 
placed here but to avoid a needless multiplication of the Classes." 

p. 173. XV. GOODY BLAKE AND HABBY GILL: "Written at Alfox- 
den. The incident from Dr. Darwin's Zoonomia." I.F. i.e. Zoonomia 9 
or the Laws of Organic Life, by Erasmus Darwin, 2 vols., 1794-6. W. 
borrowed the book from Cottle in 1797 (v. E.L., p. 169). The passage 
on which the poem is founded runs: "I received good information 
of the truth of the following case, which was published a few years 
ago in the newspapers. A young farmer in Warwickshire, finding his 
hedges broke, and the sticks carried away during a frosty season, 

440 NOTES 

determined to watch for the thief. He lay many cold hours under a 
haystack, and at length an old woman, like a witch in a play, ap- 
proached, and began to pull up the hedge ; he waited till she had tied 
up her bottle of sticks, and was carrying them off, that he might 
convict her of the theft, and then springing from his concealment, he 
seized his prey with violent threats. After some altercation, in which 
her load was left upon the ground, she kneeled upon her bottle of 
sticks, and raising her arms to Heaven beneath the bright moon then 
at the full, spoke to the farmer already shivering with cold, 'Heaven 
grant that thou mayest never know again the blessing to be warm.' 
He complained of cold all the next day, and wore an upper coat, and 
in a few days another, and in a fortnight took to his bed, always 
saying nothing made him warm; he covered himself with many 
blankets, and had a sieve over his face as he lay ; and from this one 
insane idea he kept his bed above twenty years for fear of the cold air, 
till at length he died. " From 1 8 1 5 to 1 843 the poem was placed among 
Poems of the Imagination, v. W.'s reference to the poem in his Preface, 
1800-5 (Vol. II, p. 401). 

p. 176. XVI. PBELUDE: "These verses were begun while I was on 
a visit to my son John at Brigham, and finished at Rydal. As the 
contents of the volume, to which they are now prefixed [Poems chiefly 
of Early and Late Years, 1842], will be assigned to their respective 
classes when my Poems shall be collected in one volume, I should be 
at a loss where with propriety to place this Prelude, being too restric- 
ted in its bearing to serve for a Preface for the whole. The lines 
towards the conclusion allude to the discontents then fomented 
through the country by the agitators of the Anti-Corn-Law League: 
the particular causes of such troubles are transitory, but disposition 
to excite and liability to be excited are nevertheless permanent, and 
therefore proper objects for the Poet's regard." I. F. In ed. 1842 
dated by W. March 26, 1842. 

p. 178. XVII. To A CHILD: "This quatrain was extempore on 
observing this image, as I had often done, on the lawn of Rydal 
Mount. It was first written down in the Album of my God-daughter, 
Rotha Quillinan." I. F. In the Album it is dated Rydal Mount, 3rd 
July 1834. In 1837 included under Inscriptions. 

OF LONSDALE : "This is a faithful picture of that amiable Lady, as 
she then was. The youthfulness of figure and demeanour and habits, 
which she retained in almost unprecedented degree, departed a very 
few years after, and she died without violent disease by gradual decay 
before she reached the period of old age." I. F. In 1837 included 
under Inscriptions. 

8. v. Sonnet To The Earl of Lonsdale, supra, p. 49. 

p. 180. XIX. GBACE DARLING: wrongly dated by W. 1842; sent 
by him in a letter to Henry Reed of March 27, 1843, as "the last poem 

NOTES 441 

from my pen. I threw it off two or three weeks ago, being in a great 
measure impelled to it by the desire I felt to do justice to the memory 
of a heroine, whose conduct presented some time ago a striking con- 
trast to the inhumanity with which our countrymen shipwrecked 
lately upon the French coast have been mistreated." Grace Darling's 
father was lighthouse-keeper on the Fame Islands, off Northumber- 
land ; in Sept. 1838 she went with him in a small boat to the rescue 
of some survivors from a wreck. She died in October, 1842. The poem 
was privately printed, in March 1843, at Carlisle, "at the office of 
Charles Thurnam". 

p. 183. XX. THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE : "Peter Henry Bruce, having 
given in his entertaining Memoirs the substance of this Tale, affirms 
that, besides the concurring reports of others, he had the story from 
the lady's own mouth. 

The Lady Catherine, mentioned towards the close, is the famous 
Catherine, then bearing that name as the acknowledged Wife of Peter 
the Great. W. 

"Early in life this story had interested me, and I often thought it 
would make a pleasing subject for an Opera or Musical drama." I. F. 
Bruce 's Memoirs, containing an account of his travels in Germany, 
Russia, Tartary, Turkey, and the West Indies; as also several anecdotes 
of the Czar, Peter I of Russia, was published in 1782. W. dated the 
poem 1830, but a letter written to G. H. Gordon on Jan. 19, 1829, 
states that it had been "lately" composed. 

1789. The leaves . . . hair] In 1835 W. placed these two lines in 
inverted commas, with the footnote "From Golding's Translation of 
Ovid's Metamorphoses. See also his Dedicatory Epistle prefixed to 
the same work". The passages are as follows: 

There was not any wheare 

As yet a Bay ; by meanes whereof was Phebus faine to weare 
The leaves of every pleasant tree about his goolden heare. 

Metamorphoses, Bk. I. 

As for example, in the tale of Daphnee turned to Bay 
A myrror of virginitee appeare unto us may, 
Which yielding neither unto feare, nor force, nor flatterye, 
Doth purchace everlasting fame and immortalitye. 

Epistle to the Earle of Leicester. 


p. 195. I. IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON, etc.: "In the Grounds 
of Coleorton these verses are engraved on a stone placed near the 
Tree, which was thriving and spreading when I saw it in the summer 
of 1841." I. F. Dated by W. 1808, but sent by him to Sir G. B. in 
Nov. 1811 with Nos. II and III, and if it had been written three 

442 NOTES 

years before it is unlikely that it would not have been sent at that 
time. It is true that W. says in a letter dated Nov. 20, 1811, that "the 
thought of writing" it "occurred to me many years ago", but "the 
thought of writing" is very different from actual composition. 

17. the haunt of him]: Sir John Beaumont (1583-1627), born at 
Grace Dieu, the original family seat of the Beaumonts, and the 
author of Bosworth Field. In 1806 W. had proposed to Sir G. B. to 
edit Sir John B.'s poems. "I like your ancestor's verses the more, the 
more I see of them ; they are manly, dignified, and extremely har- 
monious. I do not remember in any author of that age such a series 
of well-tuned [or turned?] couplets" (M.F., p. 64); in Nov. 1811 he 
wrote that the composition of this inscription had "brought Sir J. B. 
and his brother Francis so livelily to my mind, that I recur to the plan 
of republishing the former's poems". 

19. that famous Youth]: Francis Beaumont (1584-1616) the 
dramatist. On Inscriptions I-IV v. M.Y., pp. 470-7. 

p. 195.' II. IN A GABDBN OF THE SAME: "This Niche is in the 
sandstone -rock in the winter-garden at Coleorton, which garden, as 
has been elsewhere said, was made under our direction out of an old 
unsightly quarry. While the labourers were at work, Mrs. Words- 
worth, my Sister, and I used to amuse ourselves occasionally in 
scooping this seat out of the soft stone. It is of the size, with some- 
thing of the appearance, of a Stall in a Cathedral. This inscription is 
not engraven, as the former and the two following are, in the grounds." 
I. F. 

following I composed yesterday morning, in a walk from Brathay, 
whither I had been to accompany my sister". W. to Lady Beau- 
mont, Nov. 20, 1811. Despite this, W. dated the poem 1808. Cf. 
D. W. to Lady B., Nov. 16, 1806: "William and I went to Grace Dieu 
last week. We were enchanted with the little valley, and its rocks, 
and the rocks of Charnwood upon the hill, on which we rested for a 
long time" (M.Y., p. 83). 

18. And things jof holy use unhallowed lie]: "I ought to mention 
that the line is taken from the following of Daniel : 

Strait all that holy was unhallowed lies." W. to Sir G. B., Nov. 
20, 1811. The line is from Muaophilua, st. 46. 

p. 199. VI. WBITTEN WITH A SLATE PENCIL, etc. : "The circumstance 
alluded to at the conclusion of these verses was told me by Dr. 
Satterthwaite, who was Incumbent of Bootle, a small town at the 
foot of Black Comb. He had the particulars from one of the engineers 
who was employed in making trigonometrical surveys of that region." 
I. F. 

Black Comb stands at the southern extremity of Cumberland ; its 
base covers a much greater extent of ground than any other Mountain 
in these parts ; and, from its situation, the summit commands a more 

NOTES 443 

extensive view than any other point in Britain. W. 1815-20. Cf. 
View from the Top of Black Comb (Vol. II, p. 289). 

4. This speculative Mount] (app. crit.) Cf. Cowper, The Task, i. 289, 
"posted on this speculative height", and Note to Exc. V. 489. 

p. 200. VII. WBITTBN . . . UPON A STONE ... AT RYDAI-: 27-31, 
On W.'s objection to a glaring white for buildings in a mountainous 
district v. the Section of his Guide to the Lakes on "Colouring of Build- 
ings" (reprint of 5th Ed., 1 906, pp. 77-81 ). This would be Sir William 
Fleming of Rydal Hall, the first Baronet, died 1736. 

p. 201. VIII. In these fair Vales: "Engraven, during my absence 
in Italy, upon a brass plate inserted in the Stone." I. F. MS. 1 is 
inscribed "June 26, 1830, dictated by W. W. to D. W. senior". MS. 2 
"recopied August 2, 1832". 

p. 201. IX. The massy Ways: "The walk is what we call the Far- 
Terrace beyond the summer-house at Rydal Mount. The lines were 
written when we were afraid of being obliged to quit the place to 
which we were so much attached." I. F. Cf. Appendix XXIV. The 
variant readings are quoted by K. I have not been able to discover 
the MS. 

p. 204. XI. INSCRIBED UPON A ROCK : "The monument of ice here 
spoken of I observed while ascending the middle road of the three 
ways that lead from Rydal to Grasmere. It was on my right hand, 
and my eyes were upon it when it fell, as told in these lines." I. F. 

p. 205. XII. Hast thou seen, with flash incessant: "Where the second 
quarry now is, as you pass from Rydal to Grasmere, there was for- 
merly a length of smooth rock that sloped towards the road, on the 
right hand. I used to call it Tadpole Slope, from having frequently 
observed there the water-bubbles gliding under the ice, exactly in the 
shape of that creature." I. F. 

In 1815 placed among Poems referring to the Period of Old Age. The 
MS. readings are from two letters to Sir George and Lady Beaumont, 
dated Nov. 16 and Nov. 20, 1811. It is clear that the changes in 
the 1815 text date from about this time, when W. was at work on 
Inscriptions I-IV. But note that later he reverted to his original 

Wordsworth was occupied with translating Chaucer in 1801: v. 
D. W.'s Journals, Dec. 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9. The text which he used is that 
of Anderson's Works of the British Poets (hereafter referred to as 
Anderson). John W. left his set of Anderson with W. W. when he 
left Grasmere in Sept. 1800. "Through these Volumes I became first 
familiar with Chaucer." I. F. to Yarrow Visited 9 vol. Ill, p. 450, q.v. 
The Prioress's Tale was published in ed. 1820; The Cuckoo and The 
Nightingale and the extract from Troilus and Cressida were his 

444 NOTES 

contribution to the volume edited by Thomas Powell, The Poems of 
Geoffrey Chaucer, modernised, 1841. He offered also, but later with- 
drew, his translation of The Manciple's Tale, v. Appendix, p. 358, and 
note, p. 470; and letters to Powell (L.Y., pp. 992, 998, 1001, 1024). 

p. 209. THE PRIORESS' TALE: The evidence of date is supplied in 
D. W.'s Journal, Dec. 4, 1801, "Wm translating The Prioress's Tale" ; 
Dec. 5, "Wm finished The Prioress's Tale, and after tea Mary and he 
wrote it out." Their copy is quoted in app. crit. as MS. The motto 
is from II Penseroso, 109-10. 

51. scholar] Chaucer has "clergeon", which should be rendered 

61. Sweet is the holiness of youth] This line is not in Chaucer, and 
in order to introduce it W. added an extra line to his stanza. But in 
Ecclesiastical Sonnets, in. xxxi he quotes it as though it were Chaucer's 
and not his own. 

66. with an earnest cheer] Not in Chaucer ; W.'s first reading (v. 
app. crit.) is closer to the original. 

113. our] so Anderson; but the better Chaucerian MSS. read 
"your", which is clearly right. 

231. uncorrupted] This word is not in Chaucer, whose text is cor- 
rectly represented in W.'s early reading (v. app. crit.). It is difficult 
to see why he made this change for the worse. 

2339. In this last stanza W. departs from the correct metrical 
scheme of the poem, and, moreover, leaves his second line unrhymed. 

p. 217. THE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTINGALE: Date supplied by 
D. W.'s Journal, Dec. 7, 1801, "Wm at work with Chaucer, The God 
of Love" ; Dec. 8, "Wm. worked at The Cuckoo and the Nightingale 
till he was tired" ; Dec. 9, "Wm writing out his alteration of Chaucer's 
Cuckoo and Nightingale." This poem, now attributed to Sir Thomas 
Clanvowe, was in W.'s day thought to be Chaucer's. Anderson's 
inferior text led him into several errors. 

20. sheds] The correct text of his original is "And most his might 
he sheweth ever in May", but Anderson reads "shedith". 

39. and hearth-aches] The correct text of the original reads "an 
access", but Anderson had "arid axis", which might mean anything. 

64. Tall were the flowers, the grave a lofty cover] W.'s attempt to 
make sense of the corrupt text before him, "The flouris and the grevis 
alike hie" ; the correct reading is "The floures and the gras Hike al hie". 

67. birds come tripping from their bowers] Dowden notes that the 
text of the original reads "And saw the briddes crepe out of her 
boures" and comments on W.'s departure from it. But Anderson's 
text reads "trippe". 

99. made a loud rioting] An addition of W.'s to the text before him, 
which read : That with her clere voice she maden ringe 
Echoing through al the grene wode wide. 
Cf. W.'s O Nightingale, Vol. II, p. 214. 

NOTES 445 

103. app. crit. had 1842: heard MS., 1841. Anderson reads "For 
here hath ben the leude sory Cuckow". 

180. He may fall soon go with an old man's hair] W.'s rendering 
of the text before him "He maie full sone of age yhave his haire." But 
the correct text reads "heyr", meaning that very soon his heir will 
come of age. 

185. raise a clamour] W. misses the point here. The text reads 
"thou shalt yhotin as do I", i.e. cry "cuckoo", a pun on the cry of 
the cuckoo and "cuckold'*. 

270. Of that false Bird whom Love cannot abide] W.'s rendering 
of "Of that foule and false, and unkinde bride". 

283. well-beseen] For the original "faire and grene". 

p. 228. III. TBOILTJS AND CRESSIDA: i.e. Chaucer's T. AND c., 
v. 519-686. 

8. to cover his intent] Chaucer has "his meine for to blend", i.e. to 
hoodwink the members of his household. W. evidently takes "meine" 
to mean "meaning" "purpose". 

2 1. continuance] Chaucer has ' 'countenance", spelt 4 'countinaunce' ' 
in Anderson. W. must have misread the word. 

104-5. Chaucer has 

And al this nas but his melancolie 
That he had of hymselfe such fantasie. 

Dowden "notes that W. introduces into his rendering an echo of 
Hamlet, n. ii. 638, "Out of my weakness and my melancholy". 

118. With a soft voice] The reading of 1842-50, "With a soft night 
voice", can only be explained as an unconnected printer's error. 

123. I steer and sail] so Anderson; the correct text reads "in 
stere I sayle", i.e. "upon my rudder". 

138. app. crit. above] Chaucer has "about", and so has Anderson. 
Possibly "about" was what W. first wrote, and "above" a slip in tran- 


The class of Beggars, to which the Old Man here described belongs, 
will probably soon be extinct. It consisted of poor, and, mostly, old 
and infirm persons, who confined themselves to a stated round in 
their neighbourhood, and had certain fixed days, on which, at dif- 
ferent houses, they regularly received alms, sometimes in money, but 
mostly in provisions. W. 

p. 234. THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAB : "Observed, and with great 
benefit to my own heart, when I was a child : written at Racedown and 
Alfoxden in my 28th 1 year. The political economists were about that 
time beginning their war upon mendicity in all its forms, and by 

1 Written 23 d in Dora and E. Q.'s copy of I. F. an obvious error in 

446 NOTES 

implication, if not directly, on Almsgiving also. This heartless pro- 
cess has been carried as far as it can go by the AMENDED poor-law bill, 
though the inhumanity that prevails in this measure is somewhat 
disguised by the profession that one of its objects is to throw the 
poor upon the voluntary donations of their neighbours ; that is, if 
rightly interpreted, to force them into a condition between relief in 
the Union poor-house, and Alms robbed of their Christian grace and 
spirit, as being forced rather from the benevolent than given by them ; 
while the avaricious and selfish, and all in fact but the humane and 
charitable, are at liberty to keep all they possess from their distressed 
brethren." I. F. 

At least five MSS. of fragments, or the whole, of this poem are extant : 
(1) a folio sheet with watermark 1795; (2) in the Pierpont Morgan 
Library at New York, a folio sheet, headed Description of a Beggar ; 
(3) in D, W.'s note -book which also contains the first transcript of 
Christabel and MS. 2 of Quilt and Sorow, v. Vol. II, p. 331 ; (4) in the 
Alfoxden note-book (v. Prelude, p. xxi) ; (5) in note-book U (v. Pre- 
lude, p. xxii). All but No. 2 are in the Wordsworth Museum at Gras- 
mere. No. 5 alone has a complete copy of the poem. No. 4 originally 
contained it, but some of its pages have been cut out. 

The title of the poem "The Old Cumberland Beggar" shows it to 
be a recollection of W.'s Cockermouth days. 

For the relation of this poem to Animal Tranquillity and Decay 
v. note to that poem infra, p.447. 

4850. (app. crit.) A reminiscence of Paradise Lost, vi. 640-1 : 
For earth hath this variety from Heaven 
Of pleasure situate in hill and dale. 

61. The cottage curs] "The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark", 
Beattie, Minstrel, i. 39. 

88. This old man creeps] In the Alfoxden MS. are these lines, un- 
used in the poem, but obviously another draft of the passage given 
in the app. crit. : 

in this aged wretch 

Their forlorn brother, banished as he is 
By nature's self [?] from concerns 
Business and reciprocities of life. 
He has no suppliant voice for those who pass 
No suppliant attitude, he has forgot (survived) 
His occupation, 'tis enough for him 
If he receive his dole, and when received 
Repay [it] with a blessing, on he creeps 

127. In MS. 3, after "exemption", we have the lines: 

and blest are they 

Who by whatever process have been taught 
To look with holy reverence and with fear 

NOTES 447 

Upon this intricate machine of things. 
They touch not rashly neither in contempt 
Nor hatred, for to them a voice hath said 
When ye despise ye know not what ye do. 

p. 240. II. THE FARMER OF TILSBURY VALE: With this picture, 
which was taken from real life, compare the imaginative one of 'The 
Reverie of Poor Susan', and see (to make up the deficiencies of this 
class) 'The Excursion', passim. W. 

"The character of this man was described to me, and the incident 
upon which the verses turn was told me, by Mr. Poole of Nether 
Stowey, with whom I became acquainted through our common friend, 
S. T. C. During my residence at Alfoxden I used to see much of him 
and had frequent occasions to admire the course of his daily life, 
especially his conduct to his Labourers and poor neighbours: their 
virtues he carefully encouraged, and weighed their faults in the scales 
of Charity. If 1 seem in these verses to have treated the weaknesses 
of the farmer, and his transgression, too tenderly, it may in part be 
ascribed to my having received the story from one so averse to all 
harsh judgment. After his death, was found in his escritoire a lock of 
grey hair carefully preserved, with a notice that it had been cut from 
the head of his faithful Shepherd, who had served him for a length of 
years. I need scarcely add that he felt for all men as his brothers. 
He was much beloved by distinguished persons Mr. Coleridge, Mr. 
Southey, Sir H. Davy, and many others ; and in his own neighbour- 
hood was highly valued as a Magistrate, a man of business, and in 
every other social relation. The latter part of the poem, perhaps, 
requires some apology as being too much of an echo to the 'Reverie 
of Poor Susan'." I. F. 

p. 244. III. THE SMALL CELANDINE : Cf. Poems of the Fancy, xi 
and xii (Vol. I, pp. 142 and 144). 

p. 245. IV. THE Two THIEVES : "This is described from the life as 
I was in the habit of observing when a boy at Hawkshead School. 
Daniel was more than 80 years older than myself when he was daily 
thus occupied, under my notice. No book could have so early taught 
me to think of the changes to which human life is subject, and while 
looking at him, I could not but say to myself we may, any of us, I, 
or the happiest of my playmates, live to become still more the 
object of pity than this old man, this half-doating pilferer." I. F. 

1. Bewick] Thomas Bewick (1763-1828), artist and wood-engraver, 
said to have restored the art of wood-engraving in England. His 
most famous works were the illustrations to Select Fables, 1784, and 
History of British Birds, 1797, 1804, 8th ed., 1847. Doubtless he 
appealed specially to W. from his resolve "to stick to nature as closely 
as he could". 

p. 247. V. ANIMAL TRANQUILLITY AND DECAY: "If I recollect 
right these verses were an overflowing from The Old Cumberland 

448 NOTES 

Beggar. ' ' I. F. Both the Dove Cottage and the Pierpont Morgan MSS . 
of The Old Cumberland Beggar corroborate this, for each contains the 
main part of the present poem. The opening phrase of the latter MS. 
(2), "He travels on" (cf. original title Old Man Travelling, and 1. 3 of 
the present poem), is the burden of both poems : v. 11. 22 and 44 of The 
Old Cumberland Beggar. The present poem has split off as a study of the 
inward state of the Old Man expressed in his outward form : "resigned 
to quietness" in the margin of 11. 7-8 expresses the spiritual core of it. 
After 1. 14 (app. crit.). These lines in edd. 1798-1806, afterwards 
discarded, must have been added in 1798. 


"Those from Chiabrera were chiefly translated when Mr. Coleridge 
was writing his 'Friend', in which periodical my Essay on Epitaphs, 
written about that time, was first published. For further notice of 
Chiabrera, in connection with his Epitaphs, see 'Musings at Aqua- 
pendento." 1 I. F. The essay, which appeared in The Friend of Feb. 
22, 1810, was republished as a note to Exc. V. 978 but without the 
opening paragraph (which was preceded by W/s translations of two 
of Chiabrera's Epitaphs: II, "Perhaps some needful service", and III, 
"O Thou who mo vest onward" . . .) : "In this and the preceding Num- 
bers has been given a selection of Epitaphs from the Italian Poet 
Chiabrera: in one instance imitated [S. T. C.'s Tombless Epitaph v. 
infra, note to Epitaph V] and in the others carefully translated. The 
perusal of the original collection afforded me so much pleasure that 
I was induced to think upon the nature of that species of composition 
with more care than I had previously bestowed upon the Subject": 
two further essays, written in continuation, did not appear in The 
Friend, which came to an end in the following March ; they were first 
printed by Grosart in 1876 (Prose Works, ii. 41-75). The MS. is now 
lost. In Essay II W. states that Chiabrera's epitaphs "occasioned this 
dissertation", and in Essay III, after quoting Weever's definition of 
an epitaph, which "shews that in his conception an epitaph was not 
to be an abstract character of the deceased but an epitomized bio- 
graphy blended with description by which an impression of the 
character was to be conveyed", he goes on: "Bring forward the one 
incidental expression, a kind of commiseration, unite with it a con- 
cern on the part of the dead for the well-being of the living made 
known by exhortation and admonition, and let this commiseration 
and concern pervade and brood over the whole, so that what was 
peculiar to the individual shall still be subordinate to a sense of what 
he had in common with the species, our notion of a perfect epitaph 
would then be realized ; and it pleases me to say that this is the very 
model upon which those of Chiabrera are for the most part framed." 
1 Musings near Aquapendente, 231-49, Vol. Ill, p. 209. 

NOTES 449 

In this passage we have a statement of the principles which guided 
W. in writing the four original epitaphs that follow. 

For W.'s translation of C.'s epitaph on Tasso, which he included in 
this essay, but did not publish among the poems, v. Appendix, p. 377. 

p. 250. IV. 13 and 30 (v. app. crit.). W. alters "forty' 1 to "fifty", 
following the Italian "cinquanta" ; but "sixty" to "seventy" where 
the Italian reads "sessanta". It seems clear that Chiabrera must 
have written "settanta", which the sense requires, and that sessanta 
was a misprint in the first editions. 

24. the lofty and the low] Cf. Prelude, xiv. 471, "To pene- 
trate the lofty and the low", and Personal Talk, 32, "Which with the 
lofty sanctifies the low", v. note on Personal Talk, 32, p. 415, supra. 

p. 250. V. True is it, etc.] "Coleridge was also interested in this 
epitaph of Chiabrera, and rendered some lines of it in A Tombless 
Epitaph [first published in The Friend, Nov. 23, 1809] where he makes 
an idealising study in verse of his own character." Dowden. v. W.'s 
letter to H. C. R. on C.'s plagiarisms (C.B., 402). 

p. 252. VII. In his third essay on Epitaphs, Celebrated Epitaphs 
Considered, first printed by Grosart (Prose Works of W. W. ii. 70) W. 
gives an earlier version of this epitaph simpler in phrasing and closer 
to its original : 

O Lelius, beauteous flower of gentleness, 

The fair Aglaia's 1 friend above all friends: 

O darling of the fascinating Loves, 

By what dire envy moved did Death uproot 

Thy days ere 1 yet full blown, and what ill chance 

Hath robbed Savona of her noblest grace ? 

She weeps for thee and shall for ever weep, 

And if the fountain of her tears should fail 

She would implore Sebeto 1 to supply 

Her need: Sebeto, sympathizing stream, 

Who on his margin saw thee close thine eyes 

On the chaste bosom of thy Lady dear. 

Ah, what do riches, what does youth avail ? 

Dust are our hopes, I weeping did inscribe 

In bitterness thy monument, and pray 

Of every gentle spirit, bitterly 

To read the record with as copious tears. 

W. prefaces it by speaking of it as in Chiabrera 's "mixed manner, 
exemplifying some of the points in which he has erred", and con- 
cludes: "This epitaph is not without some tender thoughts, but 
a comparison of it with the one on the youthful Pozzobonelli [i.e. 
VIII] will more clearly shew that Chiabrera has here neglected to 
ascertain whether the passions expressed were in kind and degree a 

1 Grosart, followed by K., misprints Anglaia, e'er, and Sabete. 
017.17 IV G g 

450 NOTES 

dispensation of reason, or at least commodities issued under her licence 
and authority." 

p. 253. IX. In his third Essay on Epitaphs W. thus comments on 
this poem: "The subject of the epitaph is introduced entreating, not 
directly in his own person but through the mouth of the author, that 
according to the religious belief of his country a prayer for his soul 
might be preferred to the Redeemer of the world ; placed in counter- 
poize with this right which he has in common with all the dead, his 
individual earthly accomplishments appear light to his funeral 
Biographer as they did to the person of whom he speaks when alive, 
nor could Chiabrera have ventured to touch upon them but under the 
sanction of this person's acknowledgment. He then goes on to say 
how various and profound was his learning, and how deep a hold it 
took upon his affections, but that he weaned himself from these things 
as vanities, and was devoted in later life exclusively to the divine 
truths of the Gospel as the only knowledge in which he could find 
perfect rest. Here we are thrown back upon the introductory suppli- 
cation and made to feel its especial propriety in this case ; his life was 
long, and every part of it bore appropriate fruits. Urbino his birth- 
place might be proud of him, and the passenger who was entreated 
to pray for his soul has a wish breathed for his welfare. This compo- 
sition is a perfect whole, there is nothing arbitrary or mechanical, 
but it is an organized body, of which the members are bound together 
by a common life and are all justly proportioned." 

1. Baldi] Balbi 1815-50. Mr. Noweli Smith was the first editor 
to point out and correct the misprint. The reference is to Bernardino 
Baldi of Urbino (1553-1617), mathematician, philosopher, historian, 
and poet. 

p. 254. I. By a blest Husband guided: "This lady was named 
Carleton ; she, along with a sister, was brought up in the neighbour- 
hood of Ambleside. The epitaph, a part of it at least, is in the church 
at Bromsgrove, where she resided after her marriage." I. F. 

p. 254. II. Six months to six years added, etc. : Inscribed on the 
tombstone of W.'s son Thomas in Grasmere churchyard. He died 
on Dec. 1, 1812. v. W.'s letter to Haydon, L.Y., p. 1368. 

p. 255. III. CENOTAPH: "See Elegiac Stanzas. Addressed to Sir 
G. H. B. upon the death of his Sister-in-law" [p. 269]. I. F. 

I am the way, etc.] "Words inscribed upon her Tomb at her own 
request." MS. 

p. 255, IV. EPITAPH IN THE CHAPEL or LANGDALE : "Owen Lloyd, 
the subject of this epitaph, was born at Old Brathay , near Ambleside, 
and was the son of Charles Lloyd and his wife Sophia (nie Pemberton), 
both of Birmingham, who came to reside in this part of the country 
soon after their marriage. They had many children, both sons and 
daughters, of whom the most remarkable was the subject of this 
Epitaph. He was educated under Mr. Dawes, at Ambleside, Dr. 

NOTES 451 

Butler, of Shrewsbury, and lastly at Trinity College, Cambridge, 
where he would have been greatly distinguished as a scholar but for 
inherited infirmities of bodily constitution, which, from early child- 
hood, affected his mind. His love for the neighbourhood in which he 
was born, and his sympathy with the habits and characters of the 
mountain yeomanry, in conjunction with irregular spirits, that un- 
fitted him for facing duties in situations to which he was unaccus- 
tomed, induced him to accept the retired curacy of Langdale. How 
much he was beloved and honored there, and with what feelings he 
discharged his duty under the oppression of severe malady, is set 
forth, though imperfectly, in this Epitaph." I. F. v. L.Y., p. 1086. 

OF : "Composed at Goslar in Germany." I. F. The subject of the 

poem was clearly "the honoured teacher of my youth" whose death- 
bed W. recalls, Prelude,*. 534: "The Rev. William Taylor, headmaster 
of the Hawkshead School 1782-1786, was regarded by the Poet with 
much affection. Taylor died while W. was still at school: and just 
before his death, he sent for the upper boys into his chamber . . . and 
there took leave of them on his death-bed." Mem. i, p. 38. 

In an early draft, in place of 11. 57-72, occurs this stanza, in a 
different metre: 

[Elegy (left in a school room)] 
Among the distant stars we view 
The hand of God in rain and dew 

And in the summer heat ; 
Our Master's humble works we trace 
All round his happy native place 

In every eye we meet. 

48/9. (app* crit.) In a Manuscript probably written in 1800 this 
poem ends as follows : 

He taught in this his humble state 
What happiness a man of worth 
A single mortal may create 
Upon a single spot of earth. 
Among the distant stars we view 
The hand of God in rain and dew 
And in the summer heat, 
And Matthew's little works we trace 
All round his happy native place 
In every eye we meet. 
The neat trim house, the cottage rude 
All owed to Matthew gifts of gold, 
Light pleasures every day renewed 
Or blessings half a century old. 
Here did he sit for hours and hours, 
But then he saw the woods and plains, 

452 NOTES 

He heard the wind and saw the showers 

Come streaming down the streaming panes. 

He lies beneath the grass-green mound 

A prisoner of the silent ground. 

He loved the breathing air, 

He loved the sun he does not know 

Whether the sun be up or no, 

He lies forever there. 

If he to you did aught amiss 

Forgive him now that he is dead, 

Both in your sorrow and your bliss 

Remember him and his grey head. 

Two more Elegies on Matthew, clearly written at the same time, are 
found in a Note -book used by D. W. at Alfoxden in 1798. 


Could I the priest's consent have gained 
Or his who tolPd thy passing bell, 
Then, Mathew, had thy bones remained 
Beneath this tree we loved so well. 

Yet in our thorn will I suspend 5 

Thy gift this twisted oaken staff, 

And here where trunk and branches blend 

Will I engrave thy epitaph. 

Just as the blowing thorn began 

To spread again its vernal shade, 10 

This village lost as good a man 

As ever handled book or spade. 

Then Traveller passing o'er the green, 

Thy course a single moment stay, 

Though here no mouldering heap be seen 15 

To tell thee thou art kindred clay. 

A schoolmaster by title known 

Long Mathew penn'd his little flock 

Within yon pile that stands alone 

In colour like its native rock. 20 

Learning will often dry the heart, 
The very bones it will distress, 
But Mathew had an idle art 
Of teaching love and happiness. 

The neat trim house, the cottage rude 25 

All owed to Mathew gifts of gold, 
Light pleasures every day renewed 
Or blessings half a century old. 

NOTES 453 

His fancy play'd with endless play 

So full of mother wit was he, 30 

He was a thousand times more gay 

Than any dunce has power to be. 

Yet when his hair was white as rime 

And he twice thirty years had seen 

Would Mathew wish from time to time 35 

That he a graver man had been. 

But nothing could his heart have bribed 

To be as sad as mine is now, 

As I have been while I inscribed 

This verse beneath the hawthorn bough. 40 


Elegy written in the same place upon the same occasion 
Remembering how thou didst beguile 
With thy wild ways our eyes and ears, 
I feel more sorrow in a smile 
Than in a waggon load of tears ; 

I smile to hear the hunter's horn, 5 

I smile at meadow rock and shore, 
I smile too at this silly thorn 
Which blooms as sweetly as before. 

I think of thee in silent love 

And feel just like a wavering leaf, 10 

Along my face the muscles move, 

Nor know if 'tis with joy or grief, 

But oft when I look up and view 
Yon huts upon the mountain-side 
I sigh and say, it was for you 15 

An evil day when Mathew died. 

The neat trim house, the cottage rude . . . old as in i. 25-8 supra. 
Then weep, ye Elves, a noisy race 
Thoughtless as roses newly blown, 
Weep Mathew with his happy face 
Now lying in his grave alone. 

Thou one blind Sailor, child of joy 25 

Thy lonely tunes in sadness hum 
And mourn, thou poor half-witted boy, 
Born deaf and living deaf and dumb. 

Mourn, Shepherd, near thy old grey stone, 

Thou Angler by the silent flood, 30 

And mourn when thou art all alone 

Thou woodman in the lonesome wood. 

454 NOTES 

Mourn sick man sitting in the shade 

When summer suns have warmed the earth, 

Ye saw the [ ] which Mathew made 35 

And shook with weakness and with mirth. 

Mourn reapers thirsting in a crew 

Who rouse with shouts the evening vale, 

Thou mower in the morning dew, 

Thou milkmaid by thy evening pail. 40 

Ye little girls, ye loved his name, 
Come here and knit your gloves of yarn, 
Ye loved him better than your dame 
The schoolmaster of fair Glencarn. 

For though to many a wanton boy 45 

Did Mathew act a father's part, 
Ye tiny maids, ye were his joy, 
Ye were the favourites of his heart. 

Ye ruddy damsels past sixteen 

Weep now that Mathew's race is run 50 

He wrote your love-letters, I ween 

Ye kiss'd him when the work was done. 

Ye Brothers gone to towns remote, 

And ye upon the ocean tost, 

Ye many a good and pious thought 55 

And many a [ ] have lost. 

Staid men may weep, from him they quaff 'd 

Such wit as never failed to please, 

While at his [ ] they laugh'd 

Enough to set their hearts at ease. 60 

Ye mothers who for jibe or jest 
Have little room in heart or head, 
The child that lies upon your breast 
May make you think of Mathew dead. 

Old women in your elbow chairs, 65 

Who now will be your fence and shield, 
When wintry blasts and cutting airs 
Are busy in both house and field ? 

And weep thou School of fair Glencarn, 

No more shalt thou in stormy weather 70 

Be like a play-house in a barn 

Where Punch and Hamlet play together. 

NOTES 455 

Ye sheep-curs, a mirth-loving corps! 

Now let your tails lie still between 

Your drooping hips you'll never more 75 

Bark at his voice upon the green. 

Remembering how thou didst beguile 

With thy wild ways our eyes and ears, 

I feel more sorrow in a smile 

Than in a waggon -load of tears. 80 

PEELE CASTLE: "Sir George Beaumont painted two pictures on this 
subject one of which he gave to Mrs. Wordsworth saying she ought 
to have it ; but Lady B. interfered and after Sir George's death she 
gave it to Sir Uvedale Price in whose house at Foxley I have seen it 
rather grudgingly, shown." I. F. 

It seems clear from W.'s letter to Sir George B. on Aug. 1, 1806, 
that he saw the picture for the first time on his visit to Sir G. B. at 
Grosvenor Square in the previous May. But it had been engraved as 
early as 1783, and Sir G. B. may have given him a copy on one of his 
visits to the Lakes before 1805. It was reproduced as a frontispiece 
to Vol. II of the 1815 ed. of W.'s Poems. 

Peele Castle is on a promontory opposite Rampside in N. Lanca- 
shire. W. stayed there with his cousin Mrs. Barker during the summer 
of 1794. v. Prelude (ed. E. de S.), p. 581. 

1516. The original reading restored at the request of Barron Field 
who wrote that the lines "have passed into a quotation; they are 
ferae naturae now ; and I don't see what right you have to reclaim and 
clip the wings of the words and tame them thus". 

p. 260. VII. To THE DAISY: v. Vol. II, p. 118. This and the 
following poem are preserved, together with a hitherto unpublished 
poem given in the Appendix, p. 372, in a booklet in the hand of 
S. H., which probably dates from shortly after their composition. 
The MS. readings given in the app. crit. are to be found there. 

The news of John Wordsworth's death reached Grasmere on Feb. 
11, 1805. W. sent the present poem to Lady Beaumont in a letter 
written Aug. 7, 1805 (E.L., pp. 512-13), introducing it thus: 

"The following was written in remembrance of a beautiful letter of 
my Brother John, sent to us from Portsmouth, when he had left us 
at Grasmere, and first taken the command of his unfortunate ship, 
more than four years ago. Some of the expressions in the Poem are 
the very words he used in his letter. N.B. I have written two Poems 
to the same flower before this is partly alluded to in the first 
stanza. W. Wordsworth." v. note to 11. 19-28 infra. 

19-28. John W. to D. W. writing from Portsmouth, April 2, 1801 : 
"We are painting the Ship, and make all as smart Never Ship was 
like ours indeed we are not a little proud. ... I have been on shore 

456 NOTES 

this afternoon to stretch my legs upon the Isle of White. The Prim- 
roses are beautiful and the daisy's after sunset are like little white 
stars upon the dark green fields." (Unpublished letter.) 

p. 263. VIII. ELEGIAC VEBSES: 21. Here did we stop, etc.] "The 
point is 2 or 3 yards below the outlet of Grisdale Tarn on a foot -road 
by which a horse may pass to Paterdale, a ridge of Helvellyn on the 
left, and the summit of Fairfield on the right." I. F. Cf. D. W.'s 
Journal, Sept. 29, 1800: "John left us. Wm and I parted with him 
in sight of Ulswater" (Journals, i, p. 62). This poem was probably 
withheld from publication till 1842 because of its intimate personal 
character. 16. Moss Campion (Silene acaulis): This most beautiful 
plant is scarce in England, though it is found in great abundance upon 
the mountains of Scotland. The first specimen I ever saw of it, in 
its native bed, was singularly fine, the tuft or cushion being at least 
eight inches in diameter, and the root proportionately thick. I have 
only met with it in two places among our mountains, in both of 
which I have since sought for it in vain. 

Botanists will not, I hope, take it ill, if I caution them against 
carrying off, inconsiderately, rare and beautiful plants. This has 
often been done, particularly from Ingleborough and other mountains 
in Yorkshire, till the species have totally disappeared, to the great 
regret of lovers of nature living near the places where they grew. W. 

p. 266. IX. SONNET: "On Christmas eve we received a letter from 
Mrs. John Wordsworth then and still in Rome, communicating the 
death of her youngest son, nearly five years old. . . . The child . . . 
was one of the noblest creatures both in mind and body I ever saw." 
W. W. to a cousin, Jan. 2, 1846 (L.Y., p. 1272). To Henry Reed, 
W. wrote on Jan. 23 saying that his "state of feeling" upon this and 
other recent bereavements "had vented itself" in this sonnet and 
that beginning "Where lies the Truth", v. p. 19 supra. 

p. 266. X. LINES COMPOSED AT GRASMEBE, etc. : Fox died on Sept. 
13, 1806. W. admired Fox for "a constant predominance of sensi- 
bility of heart" in his public character, and for looking upon men as 
individuals, while* necessarily having to do with them in bodies or 
classes, v. his letter to Fox sent with the two volumes of Lyrical 
Ballads, Jan. 14, 1801 (E.L., p. 269). 

1-8. Cf. lines quoted by K. from fragments in D. W.'s Journals 
(K. Life, iii, p. 389): 

The rains at length have ceas'd, the winds are stilPd 
The stars shine brightly between clouds at rest, 
And as a cavern is with darkness filPd 
The Vale is by a mighty sound possess'd. 

p. 267. XI. INVOCATION TO THE EABTH: "Composed immediately 
after the Thanksgiving Ode 9 to which it may be considered as a 
second part.'* I. F. 

NOTES 457 

EXCURSION, etc. : The Rev. Matthew Murfitt, vicar of Kendal, died on 
Nov. 7, 1814. 

p. 269. XIII. ELEGIAC STANZAS, etc.: "On Mrs. Fermor. This lady 
had been a widow long before I knew her. Her husband was of the 
family of the Lady celebrated in the 'Rape of the Lock', and was, I 
believe, a Roman Catholic. The sorrow which his death caused her 
was fearful in its character as described in this poem, but was subdued 
in course of time by the strength of her religious faith. I have been, 
for many weeks at a time, an inmate with her at Coleorton Hall, as 
were also Mrs. Wordsworth and my Sister. The truth in the sketch 
of her character here given was acknowledged with gratitude by her 
nearest relatives. She was eloquent in conversation, energetic upon 
public matters, open in respect to these, but slow to communicate 
her personal feelings; upon these she never touched in her inter- 
course with me, so that I could not regard myself as her confidential 
friend, and was accordingly surprised when I learnt she had left me 
a Legacy of 100, as a token of her esteem. See, in further illustration, 
the second stanza inscribed upon her Cenotaph in Coleorton church." 
I. F. [v. p. 255 supra.] 

HALL, etc. : "These verses were in fact composed on horseback during 
a storm whilst I was on my way from Coleorton to Cambridge they 
are alluded to elsewhere. (My Father was on my pony which he rode 
all the way from Rydal to Cambridge that I might have the comfort 
and pleasiire of a horse at Cambridge the storm of wind and rain 
on this day was so violent that the coach in which my Mother and I 
travelled the same road was all but blown over, and had the coachman 
drawn up as he attempted to do at one of his halting places we must 
have been upset. My Father and his pony were several times actually 
blown out of the road. D. Q.)" I. F. "Thirty -seven miles did I ride 
in one day through the worst of these storms. And what was my re- 
source ? Guess again : writing verses to the memory of my departed 
friend Sir George Beaumont, whose house I had left the day before." 
Letter to W. Rowan Hamilton, Nov. 26, 1830 (M. Y., p. 538). Sir G. B. 
died on Feb. 7, 1827. 

467. From Fairfax's translation of Tasso's Godfrey of Buttogne> 11. 
xviii, "The Rose within herself her sweetness closed." 

"Light will be thrown upon the tragic circumstance alluded to in 
this Poem when, after the death of Charles Lamb's Sister, his bio- 
grapher, Mr. Sergeant Talfourd, shall be at liberty to relate particu- 
lars which could not, at the time his Memoir was written, be given to 
the public. Mary Lamb was ten years older than her brother, and 
has survived him as long a time. Were I to give way to my own 
feelings, I should dwell not only on her genius and intellectual 

458 NOTES 

powers, but upon the delicacy and refinement of manner which she 
maintained inviolable under most trying circumstances. She was 
loved and honoured by all her brother's friends ; and others, some of 
them strange characters, whom his philanthropic peculiarities in- 
duced him to countenance. The death of C. Lamb himself was 
doubtless hastened by his sorrow for that of Coleridge, to whom he 
had been attached from the time of their being schoolfellows at 
Christ's Hospital. Lamb was a good Latin scholar, and probably 
would have gone to college upon one of the school foundations but for 
the impediment in his speech. Had such been his lot, he would 
probably have been preserved from the indulgences of social humours 
and fancies which were often injurious to himself, and causes of 
severe regret to his friends, without really benefiting the object of his 
misapplied kindness." I. F. 

On Nov. 20, 1835, W. wrote to Moxon: "On the other page you 
have the requested Epitaph. It was composed yesterday and by 
sending it immediately, I have prepared the way, I believe, for a 
speedy repentance as I do not know that I ever wrote so many lines 
without some retouching being afterwards necessary. If these verses 
should be wholly unsuitable to the end Miss Lamb had in view, I shall 
find no difficulty in reconciling myself to the thought of their not 
being made use of, though it would have given me great, very great 
pleasure to fulfil, in all points, her wishes. 

"The first objection that will strike you, and every one, is its extreme 
length, especially compared with epitaphs as they now are written 
but this objection might in part be obviated by engraving the lines 
in double column, and not in capitals. 

"Chiabrera has been here my model though I am aware that 
Italian Churches, both on account of their size and the climate of 
Italy, are more favourable to long inscriptions than ours. His 
epitaphs are characteristic and circumstantial so I have endeavoured 
to make this of mine but I have not ventured to touch upon the 
most striking feature of our departed friend's character and the most 
affecting circumstance of his life, viz. his faithful and intense love of 
his Sister. Had I been pouring out an Elegy or Monody, this would 
and must have been done ; but for seeing and feeling the sanctity of 
that relation as it ought to be seen and felt, lights are required which 
could scarcely be furnished by an Epitaph, unless it were to touch 
on little or nothing else. The omission, therefore, in my view of the 
case, was unavoidable, and I regret it the less, you yourself already 
having treated in verse the subject with genuine tenderness and 

Moxon seems to have printed off a copy of the Epitaph (11. 1-38) 
immediately, v. W.'s letter to Moxon, Dec. 1835 (L.Y., p. 768), where 
he refers to the italics at the close, which tally with those found in 
T. J. Wise's unique copy (1835), 11. 35-8; the rest of the poem, now 

NOTES 459 

conceived as "an elegy or monody", with its tribute to Lamb's love for 
his sister, was added in Decem ber and read to H. C. R. as recorded in 
his Diary on Jan. 3, 1836. Letters of W. to Moxon, Nov., Dec. 1835, 
and Jan. 1836 (v. L.Y., pp. 760-4, 767-8, 771-2), make it clear that 
W. several times revised the verses and that Moxon continued to 
print off copies for his approval. Three of these are quoted in the 
app. crit.: a proof-copy now in Dove Cottage with corrections in 
M. W.'s hand, a version recorded by Knight, Dowden, and T. J. Wise 
(1836 1 ), and a copy in Dove Cottage Museum inscribed by Dora 
Wordsworth (1836 2 ). All these privately printed copies are without 
title, date, or imprint. 

15-17, 20-1. (app. crit.). v. W.'s letter to Moxon, Dec. 1835, 
L.Y., p. 767. 

24. the name he bore] This way of indicating the name of my 
lamented friend has been found fault with ; perhaps rightly so ; but 
I may say in justification of the double sense of the word, that similar 
allusions are not uncommon in epitaphs. One of the best in our 
language in verse, I ever read, was upon a person who bore the name 
of Palmer ; and the course of the thought, throughout, turned upon 
the Life of the Departed, considered as a pilgrimage. Nor can I think 
that the objection in the present case will have much force with any 
one who remembers Charles Lamb's beautiful sonnet addressed to his 
own name, and ending, 

"No deed of mine shall shame thee, gentle name! " W. 1837. 

30, 31, and 38. These lines form part of the inscription in the 
Memorial to Lamb in Edmonton Church. 

50. a scorner of the fields] v. Lamb's famous letter to W. (p.m. 
Jan. 30, 1801) in which he declines an invitation to visit the W.s at 

56. peculiar sanctity] A phrase previously used by W. in Exc. 
vii. 479. 

66. Through God] Altered from the earlier reading, "By God", 
because "in the beginning of the line [it] gives them the appearance of 
an oath" (W. to Moxon, L.Y., p. 771). 

128. dual loneliness] Cf. Lamb, Mockery End: "We house together, 
old bachelor and maid, in a sort of double singleness." 

Hoaa: "These verses were written extempore, immediately after 
reading a notice of the Ettrick Shepherd's death in the Newcastle 
paper, to the Editor of which I sent a copy for publication. The 
persons lamented in these verses were all either of my friends or 
acquaintance. In Lockhart's Life of Sir Walter Scott an account is 
given of my first meeting with him in 1803. How the Ettrick Shep- 
herd and I became known to each other has already been mentioned 
in these notes. He was undoubtedly a man of original genius, but of 
coarse manners and low and offensive opinions. Of Coleridge and 

460 NOTES 

Lamb I need not speak here. Crabbe I have met in London at Mr. 
Rogers's, but more frequently and favorably at Mr. Hoare's upon 
Hampstead Heath. Every spring he used to pay that family a visit 
of some length, and was upon terms of intimate friendship with Mrs. 
Hoare, and still more with her daughter-in-law, who has a large 
collection of his letters addressed to herself. After the Poet's decease, 
application was made to her to give up these letters to his biographer, 
that they, or at least part of them, might be given to the public. She 
hesitated to comply, and asked my opinion on the subject. 'By no 
means,' was my answer, grounded not upon any objection there 
might be to publishing a selection from these letters, but from an 
aversion I have always felt to meet idle curiosity by calling back the 
recently departed to become the object of trivial and familiar gossip. 
Crabbe obviously for the most part preferred the company of women 
to that of men, for this among other reasons, that he did not like to 
be put upon the stretch in general conversation: accordingly in 
miscellaneous society his talk was so much below what might have 
been expected from a man so deservedly celebrated, that to me it 
seemed trifling. It must upon other occasions have been of a different 
character, as I found in our rambles together on Hampstead Heath, 
and not so much from a readiness to communicate his knowledge of 
life and manners as of Natural History in all its branches. His mind 
was inquisitive, and he seems to have taken refuge from a remem- 
brance of the distresses he had gone through, in these studies and the 
employments to which they led. Moreover, such contemplations 
might tend profitably to counterbalance the painful truths which he 
had collected from his intercourse with mankind. Had I been more 
intimate with him, I should have ventured to touch upon his office 
as a Minister of the Gospel, and how far his heart and soul were in it 
so as to make him a zealous and diligent labourer. In poetry, though 
he wrote much, as we all know, he assuredly was not so. I hap- 
pened once to speak of pains as necessary to produce merit of a 
certain kind which I highly valued: his observation was *It is not 
worth while.' You are quite right, thought I, if the labour encroaches 
upon the time due to teach truth as a steward of the mysteries of God : 
if there be cause to fear that, write less : but, if poetry is to be pro- 
duced at all, make what you do produce as good as you can. Mr, 
Rogers once told me that he expressed his regret to Crabbe that he 
wrote in his later works so much less correctly than in his earlier. 
*Yes,' replied he, 'but then I had a reputation to make ; now I can 
afford to relax.' Whether it was from a modest estimate of his own 
qualifications, or from causes less creditable, his motives for writing 
verse and his hopes and aims were not so high as is to be desired. 
After being silent for more than twenty years, he again applied him- 
self to poetry, upon the spur of applause he received from the 
periodical publications of the day, as he himself tells us in one of his 

NOTES 461 

prefaces. Is it not to be lamented that a man who was so conversant 
with permanent truth, and whose writings are so valuable an acquisi- 
tion to our country's literature, should have required an impulse from 
such a quarter t l Mrs. Hemans was unfortunate as a Poetess in being 
obliged by circumstances to write for money, and that so frequently 
and so much, that she was compelled to look out for subjects wherever 
she could find them, and to write as expeditiously as possible. As a 
woman, she was to a considerable degree a spoilt child of the world. 
She had been early in life distinguished for talent, and poems of hers 
were published whilst she was a girl. She had also been handsome in 
her youth, but her education had been most unfortunate. She was 
totally ignorant of housewifery, and could as easily have managed 
the spear ef Minerva as her needle. It was from observing these 
deficiencies that, one day while she was under my roof, I purposely 
directed her attention to household economy, and told her I had 
purchased Scales, which I intended to present to a young lady as a 
wedding present ; pointed out their utility (for her especial benefit), 
and said that no manage ought to be without them. Mrs. Hemans, 
not in the least suspecting my drift, reported this saying, in a letter 
to a friend at the time, as a proof of my simplicity. Being disposed 
to make large allowances for the faults of her education and the 
circumstances in which she was placed, I felt most kindly disposed 
towards her, and took her part upon all occasions, and I was not a 
little affected by learning that after she withdrew to Ireland, a long 
and severe sickness raised her spirit as it depressed her body. This 
I heard from her most intimate friends, and there is striking evidence 
of it in a poem entitled [ ] 2 written and published not long before 
her death. These notices of Mrs. Hemans would be very unsatisfac- 
tory to her intimate friends, as indeed they are to myself, not so much 
for what is said, but what for brevity's sake is left unsaid. Let it 
suffice to add, there was much sympathy between us, and, if opportu- 
nity had been allowed me to see more of her, I should have loved and 
valued her accordingly; as it is, I remember her with true affection 
for her amiable qualities, and, above all, for her delicate and irre- 
proachable conduct during her long separation from an unfeeling 
husband, whom she had been led to marry from the romantic notions 

1 * 'Daddy dear, I don't like this think how many reasons there were to 
depress his Muse ; to say nothing of his duties as a Priest, and probably he 
found poetry interfere with them; he did not require such praise to make 
him write, but it just put it into his heart to try again, and gave him the 
courage to do so." Note by Dora Q. in I. F. 

3 "Do you mean A Sonnet entitled Sabbath Sonnet composed by Mrs. 
Hemans April 26th, 1835, a few days before her death. 

How many blessed groups. . . ." (Pencil note by E. Q. in I. F.) 

But W. probably means Flowers and Music in a Room of Sickness which 
he selects for praise in a letter to Mrs. Hemans, Sept. 1834 (L.Y., p. 714). 

462 NOTES 

of inexperienced youth. Upon this husband I never heard her cast 
the least reproach, nor did I ever hear her even name him, though 
she did not forbear wholly to touch upon her domestic position ; but 
never so as that any fault could be found with her manner of adverting 
to it." I. F. 

Walter Scott died 21st Sept., 1832. 

S. T. Coleridge 25th July, 1834. 

Charles Lamb 27th Dec., 1834. 

Geo. Crabbe 3rd Feb., 1832. 

Felicia Hemans . . . . . 16th May, 1835. 


Hogg died 21st Nov. 1835. 

The extempore character of the verses is independently attested by 
the following record in the Diary of the Rev. Francis Kilvert, who 
met W.'s niece, Miss Hutchinson, 1 at Whitney in 1871 : "Miss Hutch- 
inson said that once when she was staying at the Wordsworths' the 
poet was much affected by reading in the newspaper the death of 
Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd. Half an hour afterwards he came into 
the room where the ladies were sitting and asked Miss Hutchinson 
to write down some lines which he had just composed. She did so 
and these lines were the beautiful Poem called The Graves of the 

CHURCH: Robert Southey died on March 21, 1843. For the pains 
which W. took to make his Inscription as good as he could v. his 
correspondence with John Taylor Coleridge (L. Y. 9 pp. 1187-90, 1 194), 
to whom he submitted his drafts and corrections. Cf. also "Reminis- 
cences of Wordsworth by Lady Richardson", Grosart, iii. 438. 

Before line 1 (app. crit.) added in response to J. T. Coleridge's criti- 
cism: "I desiderate some notice of the Lake in the third line I could 
almost venture to turn *y e loved Books' into 'thou loved Lake' and 
end the 4th line with shore." Letter to W., 30 Nov. 1843. 

13, 14. (app. cvit.) Lady Richardson records that in Dec. 1843 W. 
read to them his Epitaph on Southey; her mother objected to 
"holier nest" as not being a correct union of ideas. . . . "He said there 
was yet time to change it, and that he should consult Judge Coleridge 
whether the line as he once had it 

Did private feeling[s] meet in holier rest 

would not be more appropriate to the simplicity of an epitaph where 
you con every word, and where every word is expected to bear an 

1 Elizabeth Hutchinson, daughter of M. W.'s brother, Thomas Hutchin- 
son, and Mary, nie Monkhouse. The Rector of Whitney, Mr. Dew, married 
the only daughter of Thomas Monkhouse. 

NOTES 463 

exact meaning." The inscription on the monument, however, reads 
"find a holier nest". 

17, 18. (app. crit.) The inscription on the monument reads: 
' 'Through a life long and pure ; and Christian faith' \ text. But 
an inspection of the stone shows that the last two lines have been partly 
erased and the above re-incised. Possibly the erased words may be 
as in MS. 1 (first reading). Cuthbert Southey in his Life of his father 
gives this version for the closing lines with "steadfast" for "Christian". 
W. also attempted a prose inscription, of which the first version con- 
tains the word "prematurely" to which J. T. C. objected (v. L.Y. 9 
p. 1188) : it was not used at Crosthwaite. 


"This was composed during my residence at Town -End, Grasmere ; 
two years at least passed between the writing of the four first stanzas 
and the remaining part. To the attentive and competent reader the 
whole sufficiently explains itself; but there may be no harm in advert- 
ing here to particular feelings or experiences of my own mind on 
which the structure of the poem partly rests. Nothing was more 
difficult for me in childhood than to admit the notion of death as a 
state applicable to my own being. I have said elsewhere 

*A simple child, 
That lightly draws its breath, 
And feels its life in every limb, 
What should it know of death!' 

But it was not so much from [feelings] of animal vivacity that my 
difficulty came as from a sense of the indomitableness of the spirit 
within me. I used to brood over the stories of Enoch and Elijah, and 
almost to persuade myself that, whatever might become of others, 
I should be translated, in something of the same way, to heaven. 
With a feeling congenial to this, I was often unable to think of exter- 
nal things as having external existence, and I communed with all 
that I saw as something not apart from, but inherent in, my own 
immaterial nature. Many times while going to school have I grasped 
at a wall or tree to recall myself from this abyss of idealism to the 
reality. At that time I was afraid of such processes. In later periods 
of life I have deplored, as we have all reason to do, a subjugation of an 
opposite character, and have rejoiced over the remembrances, as is 
expressed in the lines 

'Obstinate questionings 

Of sense and outward things, 

Fallings from us, vanishings ;' etc. 

To that dream-like vividness and splendour which invest objects of 

464 NOTES 

sight in childhood, every one, I believe, if he would look back, could 
bear testimony, and I need not dwell upon it here : but having in the 
Poem regarded it as presumptive evidence of a prior state of existence, 
I think it right to protest against a conclusion, which has given pain 
to some good and pious persons, that I meant to inculcate such a 
belief. It is far too shadowy a notion to be recommended to faith, as 
more than an element in our instincts of immortality. But let us bear 
in mind that, though the idea is not advanced in revelation, there is 
nothing there to contradict it, and the fall of Man presents an analogy 
in its favor. Accordingly, a pre-existent state has entered into the 
popular creeds of many nations ; and, among all persons acquainted 
with classic literature, is known as an ingredient in Platonic philo- 
sophy. Archimedes said that he could move the world if he had a 
point whereon to rest his machine. Who has not felt the same 
aspirations as regards the world of his own mind ? Having to wield 
some of its elements when I was impelled to write this Poem on the 
'Immortality of the Soul', I took hold of the notion of pre-existence 
as having sufficient foundation in humanity for authorizing me to 
make for my purpose the best use of it I could as a Poet." I. F. 

"The poem rests entirely upon two recollections of childhood, one 
that of a splendour in the objects of sense which is passed away, and 
the other an indisposition to bend to the law of death as applying to 
our particular case. A Reader who has not a vivid recollection of 
these feelings having existed in his mind cannot understand the poem." 
(W. to Mrs. Clarkson, Dec. 1814.) 

The date at which W. composed his Ode Intimations of Immortality, 
is a matter of great interest and some controversy among students 
of the poet; Wordsworth himself assigned it to the years 1803-6, 
and, accepting these dates, critics (myself among the number, in my 
edition of The Prelude) have regarded its later stanzas as influenced 
by the loss of his brother John in Feb. 1805. But further investiga- 
tion has convinced me that, as often, Wordsworth's dating is in- 

D. W.'s Journal for March 26, 1802, records that "he wrote the 
Rainbow" (i.e. "My heart leaps up", etc.), and, for March 27, "Wm. 
wrote part of an Ode" ; on the 28th they were with Coleridge, and W. 
must then have recited to him the first four stanzas of the Ode, for 
on April 4 Coleridge wrote his Dejection, in which the lines "I too will 
crown me with a coronal" and "They are not to me now the things 
which once they were" are deliberate reminiscences of lines 40 and 9 
of the Ode. Dejection is, indeed, C.'s counterpart of the Ode, and it is 
probable that, though W. had written only four stanzas at the time, 
he enlarged to C. upon that mood of meditative ecstasy in which his 
poem was to close. 

The poem, says W., was completed "two years at least" after its 
inception (v. I. F. note supra) and this would hardly justify our accep- 

NOTES 465 

tance of so late a date as 1806 for its downward limit, even if there 
were not other reasons against it. But Coleridge relates in The Friend 
(Section II, Essay xi) that "during my residence in Rome [i.e. 
January to May, 1806] I had the pleasure of reading this sublime 
Ode to the illustrious Baron von Humbolt" who 'listened with evi- 
dent delight . . . and wonder that so great and original a poet should 
have escaped his notice". C.'s statement does not admit the interpre- 
tation that he read only the first four stanzas, or, as has been sug- 
gested, an incomplete draft of the whole ; if he had done so, von 
Humbolt is not likely to have been so deeply impressed. Now even 
if C. had received the poem by post, it must have been sent off by 
Sept., 1804; for he left Malta in Sept. 1805, and he could have re- 
ceived no letter from Wordsworth for six months before that. On 
Jan. 19, 1805, he had written to W. : "It is my fixed intention to leave 
this place in March" ; W. received this letter on March 27, and, 
believing that C. was already on his way home, had no address to 
write to. Hence, as we know that for some time after his brother's 
death W.'s distress of mind made all poetic composition impossible 
to him, the date of the Ode must be put back at least to Jan. 1805. 
But on April 20 C. wrote to Stuart complaining of the non -arrival of 
letters from England, the last being from W., dated the previous 
September. This would normally have reached Malta in November 
or December at latest ; of course, a letter written between September 
and the following February might have been so much delayed in 
transit as to reach Malta after April 20, but this is improbable ; hence 
the conclusion that the Ode was finished at least by Sept. 1804. 

But there is good reason for the belief that the poem was not sent 
by letter to Coleridge, but that it was completed before he left 
England. For it is found in MS. M, which contains the great majority 
of the poems, then unpublished, which we know to have been written 
by the early months of 1804 ; it contains no poem of an authenticated 
later date, and it concludes with the first five books of The Prelude, 
which were completed before C.'s departure for Malta in April 1804. 
Even if my assumption (Prelude, p. xxxi) is incorrect that M is a 
duplicate of the volume copied for Coleridge to take with him, the 
appearance of the Ode in it still favours the view that it was among 
the poems completed by that date. Wordsworth speaks of "two 
years at least" as separating the inception and the conclusion of the 
poem. It was begun in March 1802; it seems to have been finished 
in March 1804. 

In addition to MS. M two other Manuscripts are known to exist, 
one a transcript, in an unknown hand, in the Beaumont collection at 
Coleorton, described by Professor Ifor Evans in the T.L.S. of June 13, 
1938, and quoted in app. crit. as B, the other in the Longman MSS,, 
quoted as L, for a careful transcript, and also for a sight of which I 
am indebted to Mr. E. H. W. Meyerstein. 

017.17 IV H h 

466 NOTES 

1 -6. There was a time etc.] Both verbally and metrically reminiscent 
of Coleridge's Mad Monk (1801), 9-16: 

There was a time when earth, and sea, and skies, 
The bright green vale, and forest's dark recess, 
With all things, lay before mine eyes 
In steady loveliness ; 
But now I feel, on earth's uneasy scene, 
Such sorrows as will never cease ; 
I only ask for peace ; 

If I must live to know that such a time has been ! 
23-4. A timely utterance etc.] Professor Garrod suggests (Words- 
worth, p. 113) that the "timely utterance" was the Rainbow poem, 
written the day before the Ode was begun, the last three lines of which, 
from 1815 on, were printed as a motto to the poem. 

36-40. Cf. The Idle Shepherd Boys, 27-30 (Vol. I, p. 239). 
3676. Many critics have noted the parallels between much of this 
passage and the poems of Vaughan, especially Retreate and Corrup- 
tion, which W. certainly knew ; but parallels even more striking are 
to be found in the writings of Traherne, which were not published 
until 1905-8. 

512. a Tree . * . A single field] W. refers in The Prelude to two 
trees which had a deep and haunting influence upon him in his youth, 
the "tall ash" opposite his bedroom window at Hawkshead (Prelude, 
iv. 86-92) and the "single tree" in the college groves at Cambridge 
ibid. vi. 76-94, "William's ash tree", as D. W. calls it, (M.Y., p. 397): 
he may here have been thinking of either of these. The "single field" 
is perhaps the "one green field" described in Poems on the Naming 
of Places, v (To M. H.), associated in his mind with the days of his 

69. But He] app. crit. I have accepted this division of the line as 
providing the reading which W. originally intended. He has with his 
own hand made this correction in the Longman MS. for the press. This 
gives a rhyme to infancy,!. 66,which otherwise wouldremain unrhymed. 
86-90. Behold the Child etc.] W. is thinking in particular of 
Hartley Coleridge. Cf. Christabel 656-61: 

A little child, a limber elf, 
Singing dancing to itself, . . . 
Makes such a vision to the sight 
As fills a father's eyes with light. 

104. "humorous stage"] From 1. 1 of Daniel's Sonnet to Fulke 
Greville, in dedication of Musophilus. 

109-21. Quoted by Coleridge (Biog. Lit. 9 ch. xxii) as an instance of 
"mental bombast or thoughts and images too great for the subject". 

119-21. Cf. Essay upon Epitaphs : "If we look back upon the days 
of childhood, we shall find that the time is not in remembrance when, 

NOTES 467 

with respect to our own individual Being, the mind was without this 
assurance [that some part of our nature is imperishable]." 

121/2. (1807-15.) These lines were omitted after ed. 1815 owing 
to Coleridge's objections (in Biog. Lit., ch. xxii) to the "frightful 
notion of lying awake in the grave'*. But to W, and his sister the 
idea was evidently both happy and familiar. Cf. D. W.'s Journal for 
April 29, 1802 : "We went to John's grove, sate a while at first. After- 
wards William ,lay, and I lay, in a trench under the fence he with 
his eyes shut, and listening to the waterfalls and the birds . . . we 
both lay still, and unseen by one another ; he thought that it would 
be as sweet thus to lie so in the grave, to hear the peaceful sounds of the 
earth, and just to know that our dear friends were near." Cf. Poem 
in Appendix B. III. ii. 

127-9. Cf. Prelude, xiv. 157. 

144. Fallings from us, vanishings] "I remember Mr. Wordsworth 
saying that, at a particular stage of his mental progress, he used to 
be frequently so rapt into an unreal transcendental world of ideas 
that the external world seemed no longer to exist in relation to him, 
and he had to reconvince himself of its existence by clasping a tree, 
or something that happened to be near him." (R. P. Graves quoted 
M. ii. 480). Cf. also the letter from Professor Bonamy Price, quoted 
by K.: "The venerable old man raised his aged form erect; he was 
walking in the middle, and passed across me to a five-barred gate in 
the wall which bounded the road on the side of the lake. He clenched 
the top bar firmly with his right hand, pushed strongly against it, 
and then uttered these ever -memorable words : 'There was a time in 
my life when I had to push against something that resisted, to be sure 
that there was anything outside me. I was sure of my own mind ; 
everything else fell away, and vanished into thought.' " 

155. our noisy years] A reminiscence of lines in an Address to 
Silence, published in The Weekly Entertainer. Cf. On the Power of 
Sound, 217-18: 

O Silence ! are Man's noisy years 

No more than moments of thy life ? (Vol. ii, pp. 330 and note, 

161. abolish or destroy] Cf. Paradise Lost, ii. 92: 

More destroyed than thus 
We should be quite abolisht and expire. 

182. primal sympathy] Cf. Prelude, i. 555-8. 

203. the meanest flower that blows] Cf. Gray, Ode on the Pleasure 
arising from Vicissitude: 

The meanest floweret of the vale, 
The simplest note that swells the gale, 
The common sun, the air, the skies 
To him are opening Paradise. 



The following Manuscripts are extant: (i) a rough copy, much 
corrected, in the hands of W. W., M. W., D. W., and Dora W., pre- 
served in a large leather-bound folio volume used by W. from about 
1820 or earlier to 1846 for composition or transcription, MS. 101. 
This is the earliest of the Manuscripts, and the only one to contain the 
last eleven lines of Bk. Ill, Bk. IV. 688-92, and Bk. VIII. 337-66. 
(ii and iii) Fair copies of Bks. I and II carefully written by D. W. on 
quarto sheets stitched together ; the paper has watermarks 1820 said 
1822. Bk. II is interleaved, and contains some corrections in the hand 
of Christopher W. Though Wordsworth seems to have accepted them, 
I have not introduced them into my text, but have given them in 
the app. crit. (iv) A fair copy of III. 1-580 in a small octavo note- 
book, written by S. H. ; the paper shows watermark 1821. (v) A fair 
copy of Bks. I and II in the hand of S. H., watermarks 1822-3; 
and of Bk. III. 289-536 by D. W. on octavo sheets (watermark 1823) 
stitched together in a cardboard cover ; this copy has a few correc- 
tions by W. W. and C. W. 

The exact date of W.'s translation is difficult to determine owing 
to the inaccuracy and inconsistency with which K. has dated the 
relevant correspondence. There are five letters from W. to Lord 
Lonsdale referring to the translation, one undated, the rest incorrectly 
dated by K. Their sequence must be as follows: 

(1) Letter to Lord Lonsdale, dated by K. 9 Nov. 1823, quoted in 
K.'s Poetical Works of W. 1896, vol. viii, p. 276: "I have just finished 
a Translation into English rhyme of the First ^Eneid. Would you 
allow me to send it to you ? I would be much gratified if you would 
take the trouble of comparing some passages with the original. I 
have endeavoured to be much more literal than Dryden, or Pitt 
who keeps more close to the original than his predecessor." 

(2) Undated letter to Lord L., dated by K. Jan. 1819, M.Y., p. 836 ; 
Mem. ii. 69: "Many thanks for your obliging letter. I shall be much 
gratified if you happen to like my translation, and thankful for any 
remarks with which you may honour me. I have made so much 
progress with the second book, that I defer sending the former till 
that is finished." 

(3) Letter to Lord L., dated by K. 23rd Nov. 1824, L.Y., p. 161: 
"I am ashamed of being so long in fulfilling my engagement. But the 
promises of poets are like the perjuries of lovers, things at which Jove 
laughs ! At last, however, I have sent off the two first books of my 
translation. . . ." 

(4) Letter to Lord L., dated by K. Feb. 5 [1819]; by Christopher 
W., M. ii. 70. Feb. 5 [1829]. M. Y., p. 836 : "I am truly obliged by your 
friendly and frank communication. May I beg that you would add 
to the favour by marking with a pencil some of the passages that are 


faulty in your view. ... I do not think of going beyond the fourth 
book. [He implies that he has translated Book III.] As to the MS., 
be so kind as to forward it to me at Sir George Beaumont's, Coleorton 
Hall, whither I am going in about ten days." 

(5) Letter to Lord L., dated by K. 17 Feb., 1819, Coleorton Hall: 
"I began my translation by accident. ... In my last I troubled you 
with a quotation from my^own translation" [He refers to a passage in 
letter (4)]. 

The following letters seem to be dated correctly: 

(6) Letter of S. T. C. to Mrs. Allsop, dated 8 April 1824. Letters, 
Conversations and Recollections of S. T. Coleridge, 1836, vol. i. 166-7. 
He asks for three rolls of paper in the sideboard drawer, "Mr. Words- 
worth's translation of the first, second and third books of the ./Eneid", 
to be given to the bearer. These would appear to be MSS. ii, iii, and iv. 

(7) Letter of D. W. to H. C. R., Dec. 1824. H. C. R., i. 129: .. ."ask 
Charles [Lamb] if my Brother's translation of Virgil is in his posses- 

(8) Letter of C. Lamb to W. W., May 1825: "Your Virgil I have 
lost sight of, but suspect it is in the hands of Sir G. Beaumont. . . . Will 
you write to him about it ? and your commands shall be obeyed to a 

Now the date of S. T. C.'s letter, which I believe to be correct, 
constitutes a terminus ad quern. I conjecture that the correct dates 
are as follows: (1) 9 Nov. 1822; (2) ? Dec. 1822; (3) 23 Nov. 1823; 
(4) 6 Feb. 1824 ; (5) 17 Feb. 1824 ; (6) 8 April 1824. Letters (4) and (5) 
are connected with a February visit to Coleorton Hall. The Words- 
worths did not visit Coleorton in Feb . 1819. But they were there in Feb . 
1823 (v. R. Southey to H. C. R., 22 Feb. 1823, "W. is at Coleorton", 
C. R. 125). And D. W. and W. W. were there again in Feb. 1824 (v. 
unpublished letter of M. W. to E. Q., 23 Feb. 1824). Now it is more 
likely that W. was at work on the Mneid from the summer of 1822 
onwards than from the summer of 1821 ; for in 1821 he was occupied 
with three literary tasks : writing poems for the Memorials of a Tour 
on the Continent, compiling Ecclesiastical Sonnets, and revising for the 
press his Guide to the Lakes, all three published in the spring of 1822. 
I believe that Bks. I and II of the ASneid were finished and copied 
in the spring of 1823: D. W.'s copy has a note on the back of Bk. II 
in her own hasty hand: "To be sent to Lady Beaumont, Grosvenor 
Square before or on Sat. sennight 20th April." It is true that 19th 
April was Saturday in 1823, but D. W. was often wrong about days 
of the month (cf. her letter to H. C. R., dated Friday, 24th November 
1821, C. R. 108: 24 Nov. 1821 was a Saturday) and her diaries passim. 
Then he must have sent the two Books to Lord Lonsdale in Nov. 
1823, when he had already completed Bk. Ill in at any rate a rough 
draft (4). This Book had been copied (MS. iv) by April 1824, when 
S. T. C. had it in his hands along with Books I and II (6). 


K.'s conjecture of 1819 as the date of W.'s letter (5) to Lord Lons- 
dale is based on Christopher W.'s statement (M. ii. 68) that "in pre- 
paring his son for his University career he reperused the Latin poets'* 
(D. W.'s letter of 1 Aug. 1819, M.Y. 851, shows that W. was then 
acting as John's tutor), and that "Among the fruits of this course of 
reading was a translation of the earlier books of Vergil's &neid". 

W. may have tried his hand at translating Virgil as early as 1819, 
but I surmise that he settled down to it in earnest in the latter part 
of 1822 and pursued the work, with considerable periods of inter- 
mission, till the early months of 1824. S. T. C.'s verdict on it in a 
letter, conjecturally but I think rightly, dated 1824 by E. H. C. 
(Letters of S. T. C. ii. 733), was not encouraging and may have influ- 
enced W. against going farther. His translation stops short at Bk. 
Ill, line 580. In Dec. 1827 W. writes to Christopher W. Junior: u As 
to the Virgil I have no objection to its being printed if two or three 
good judges would previously take the trouble of looking it over ..." 
(L.Y. 282). 

A portion of his translation of Bk. 1, 11. 657 to the end was in 1832 
published in the Philological Museum prefixed by the following letter : 

"Your letter reminding me of an expectation I some time since 
held out to you of allowing some specimens of my translation from the 
^neid to be printed in the 'Philological Museum', was not very 
acceptable ; for I had abandoned the thought of ever sending into 
the world any part of that experiment for it was nothing more 
an experiment begun for amusement, and I now think a less fortunate 
one than when I first named it to you. Having been displeased in 
modern translations with the additions of incongruous matter, I began 
to translate with a resolve to keep clear of that fault, by adding 
nothing; but I became convinced that a spirited translation can 
scarcely be accomplished in the English language without admitting 
a principle of compensation. On this point, however, I do not wish 
to insist, and merely send the following passage, taken at random, 
from a wish to comply with your request. W. W." 


p. 357. I. FBOM THE ALFOXDEN NOTEBOOK: This note-book (de- 
scribed in Prelude, p. xxi) contains work written in the early months 
of 1798 ; it is unlikely that these lines would be found in it unless they 
were of that period, though they appear there as a curious survival 
of W.'s earlier and more crudely "romantic" taste. 

PBOLOGUE) AND THE MANCIPLE'S TALE : D. W. records in her Journal 
of Dec. 2, 1801, "I read the Tale of Phoebus and the Crow, which 
[Wm.] afterwards attempted to translate, and did translate a large 


part of it to-day" ; on April 28, 1802, she "wrote out The Manciple's 
Tale". In Dec. 1839 W. offered it to Powell for inclusion in his Changer 
Modernised (v. pp. 443-4 supra) and in the following February he was 
busy revising his version of it. But on May 1 he wrote to Powell: 
"You are welcome to my Cuckoo and Nightingale and to the small 
part of the Troilus and Cressida, and were my own judgment only to 
be consulted to the Manciple's Tale, but there is a delicacy in respect 
to this last among some of my Friends which though I cannot 
sympathize with it I am bound to respect. Therefore in regard to 
that piece you will consider my decision as at present suspended." 
W. never printed it. Two of these friends were certainly Miss Fenwick 
and Quillinan. To Quillinan he wrote: "I do not acknowledge the 
force of the objections made to my publishing the specimens of 
Chaucer, nevertheless I have yielded to the judgments of others," 
and, a little later, to Dora W. : "Tell Mr. Quillinan, I think he has 
taken a rather narrow view of the spirit of the Manciple's Tale, 
especially as concerns its morality. The formal prosing at the end 
and the selfishness that pervades it flows from the genius of Chaucer, 
mainly as characteristic of the narrator whom he describes in the 
Prologue as eminent for shrewdness and clever worldly Prudence. 
The main lesson, and the most important one, is inculcated as a Poet 
ought to inculcate his lessons, not formally, but by implication ; as 
when Phoebus in a transport of passion slays a wife whom he loved 
so dearly. How could the mischief of telling truth, merely because it 
is truth, be more feelingly exemplified ? The Manciple is not, in his 
understanding, conscious of this ; but his heart dictates what was 
natural to be felt and the moral, without being intended, forces itself 
more or less upon every Reader. Then how vividly is impressed the 
mischief of jealous vigilance, and how truly and touchingly in con- 
trast with the world's judgments are the transgressions of a woman in 
a low rank of life and one in high estate placed on the same level, 
treated." To Miss Fenwick he wrote more generally. "Chaucer was 
one of the greatest poets the world has ever seen. He is certainly, at 
times, in his comic tales, indecent, but he is never, as far as I know, 
insidiously or openly voluptuous, much less would a stronger term, 
which would apply to some popular writers of our own day, apply to 
him. He had towards the female sex as exquisite and pure feelings 
as ever the heart of man was blessed with, and has expressed them 
as beautifully in the language of his age, as ever man did" (v. L.Y., 
pp. 993, 1002, 1009, 1018, 1025). 

The Manuscript is headed by the following lines, taken from 
Drayton's Elegy, "To my most dearly -loved friend Henry Reynolds 
Esquire, of Poets and Poesie: 

That noble Chaucer, in those former times 
The first enriched our English histories 
And was the first of ours that ever brake 


Into the Muses' treasure, and first spake 
In weighty numbers, delving in the mine 
Of perfect knowledge" 

But the correct reading of 1. 2 is "The first inrich'd our English with 
his rimes". 

p. 365. III. FRAGMENTS FROM MS. M. (On MS. M v. Prelude, 
p. xx). The lines seem to have been written shortly before April 22, 
1802. Cf. D. W.'s Journal for that day : "We walked into Easedale . . . 
the waters were high for there had been a great quantity of rain 
in the night. ... I sate upon the grass till they [Wm. and C.] came from 
the waterfall . . . when they returned Wm. was repeating the poem 
'I have thoughts that are fed by the sun.' It had been called to his 
mind by the dying away of the stunning of the waterfall when he 
came behind a stone." 

p. 366. IV. THE TINKEB: Preserved in MS. M and in the Longman 
MSS., its presence in the latter suggests that W. intended to publish 
and then withdrew it. Cf. D. W.'s Journal, April 27, 1802, "In the 
evening Wm. began to write The Tinker." April 28, "He is working 
at The Tinker" April 29, "... I had written down The Tinker, which 
Wm. finished this morning." 

p. 367. V. TRANSLATION OF ARIOSTO : Dated by an entry in D. W.'s 
Journal for Nov. 8, 1802 : "W. is writing out his stanzas from Ariosto." 
According to a letter written to Sir G. Beaumont on Oct. 17, 1806 
(E.L. 9 p. 629), W. translated two books of the Orlando Furioso, but 
this fragment, representing Canto I, v-xiv, and preserved on the 
back of a folio sheet, formerly used for a rough draft of The Ruined 
Cottage, is all that has survived. 

p. 369. VI. TRANSLATIONS FROM METASTASIO. These translations 
are written into W.'s copy, presented by Mr. Gordon Wordsworth to 
the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, of Pieces selected from the Italian 
Poets by Agostino I sola (Teacher of the Italian Language) and translated 
into English Verse by some of the Gentlemen of the University. Cambridge 
1784. i, iii, and v are in W.'s hand, ii and iv in D. W.'s. On the blank 
front page W. ha$ written a list of fourteen of his sonnets (giving the 
opening words as titles), which were all composed between 1802 and 
1806 and published in 1807: one of the titles, "There is a trickling . . .", 
gives an early reading of ' 'There is a little unpretending Rill ' ' , v. Vol. Ill, 
p. 4. From the evidence of handwriting it would appear that the transla- 
tions were written at the same time that the list was made, i.e. between 
1802 and 1806, a time when D. W. was often his amanuensis. W. tells 
us that as an undergraduate he "read nothing but classic authors 
according to my fancy, and Italian poetry. My Italian master was 
named Isola. ... As I took to these studies with much interest he 
was proud of my progress" (M. i, p. 14). He returned from time to 
time to the translation of Italian poetry: v. Translation of Ariosto, 
V swpra, (1802) ; of Chiabrera (1810), v. p. 248, supra; and in 1806-6 he 


was busied with translation from Michael Angelo, v. Vol. Ill, pp. 14-15 
and 423. These translations from Metastasio are simpler, terser, and 
more faithful than the printed versions by Isola's pupils, which are 
tricked out in the literary style of the late eighteenth century. 

lation appeared in R. Duppa's Life and Literary Works of Michel Angelo, 
2nd edition, 1807 ; v. note to Misc. Sonnets Vol. Ill, p. 423. The stanzas 
by Michael Angelo are printed by Duppa among the poems he appends 
to his book, under the title, Alcune stanze ritrovate tra altre composizioni 
di Michel Agnolo cosl senza cominciato. There are nine stanzas, and in 
Duppa's third edition, 1816, the first four of the translations are 
attributed to Wordsworth, the last five to Southey, 

ii. Michael Angelo in reply to the passage upon his Statue of Night 
Sleeping: These two versions (the first initialled W. W.) of Michael 
Angelo 's quatrain are written into the blank pages at the front of 
vol. i of the copy, quoted by K. as C., of the 1836-7 edition of W.'s 
Poems. The original quatrain and the epigram which provoked it 
were printed in R. Duppa's Life of M. A.: "Risposta all' epigramma 
di Giovanni Strozzi sopra la Statua della notte, che e questo. 

La notte, che tu vedi in si dolci atti 
Dormir, fu da un Angelo scolpita. 
In questo sasso, e perche dorme, ha vita ; 
Destala se nol credi, e parleratti. 
Grato m'&l sonno, e piti 1'esser di sasso, 
Mentre che'l danno, e la vergogna dura : 
Non veder, non sentir m'6 gran ventura 
Per6 non mi destar, deh parla basso." 

The date when W. made the translations is uncertain. K. assigned 
them to 1 806, v. preceding note. But their appearance in the copy of 
the 1836-7 edition makes it equally likely that they were composed at 
the time of his later translations from Michael Angelo, during or just 
after his Italian tour of 1837. 

p. 372. VIII. Come, gentle Sleep, etc.: This quatrain follows the 
above lines from Michael Angelo in C. and may have been written 
about the same time. Warton's Latin verses are as follows: 

"Somne veni! quamvis placidissima Mortis imago es, 
Consortem cupio te tamen esse tori ; 

Hue ades, haud abiture cit6 ! nam sic sine vita 

Vivere quam suave est, sic sine rnorte mori!" 

first included in T. Warton's Poetical Works in the fifth edition, 1802, 
ed. by R. Mant, who refers to Headley's Select Beauties of Ancient 
English Poetry, 1787, where Headley says "they are written by the pre- 
sent Poet Laureate". The ascription is likely to be authentic since 
Headley was a friend and admirer of Warton, and a fellow member 
of Trinity College. 


(Vasco, le cui felici ardite antenne . . .). Written by W. on a sheet 
of Manuscript sold at Sotheby's in Dec. 1896, and printed by the 
late Mr. Garnett, who prefixed to them the following translation of 
the Octave: 

Vasco, whose bold and happy mainyard spread 
Sunward thy sails where dawning glory dyed 
Heaven's orient gate ; whose westering prow the tide 
Clove, where the day -star bows him to his bed ; 
Not sterner toil than thine, or strife more dread, 
Or nobler laud to nobler lyre allied 
His, who did baffled Polypheme deride, 
Or his, whose soaring shaft the Harpy fled. 

p. 372. X. INSCRIPTION FOB THE Moss HUT: On Dec. 25, 1804, 
W. wrote to Sir G. Beaumont: "We have lately built in our little 
rocky orchard a little circular Hut, lined with moss, like a wren's 
nest, and coated on the outside with heath, that stands most charm- 
ingly, with several views from the different sides of it, of the Lake, 
the Valley and the Church the latter sadly spoiled lately by being 
white-washed. The little retreat is most delightful, and I am sure you 
and Lady Beaumont would be highly pleased with it. Coleridge has 
never seen it. What a happiness would it be for us to see him there, 
and entertain you all next Summer in our homely way under its 
shady thatch. I will copy a dwarf inscription which I wrote for it the 
other day, before the building was entirely finished, which indeed it 
is not yet." 

p. 372. XL DISTRESSFUL GIFT!: Preserved, together with To the 
Daisy and Elegiac Verses (pp. 260-5), in a booklet in the hand of 
S. H., probably copied soon after its composition in the spring of 1805. 
The Manuscript has corrections in pencil by W., which are incor- 
porated in my text. The book referred to in the poem may, as Mr. 
Gordon W. suggested, have been that known as M ; if not, it was a 
similar volume into which W.'s poems were copied for the benefit of 
his brother John. 

p. 374. XII. ON SEEING SOME TOURISTS, etc.: Preserved in the 
Longman MSS., after the lines To a young lady who had been reproached, 
etc. The date may be any time between 1801 and 1806, when Long- 
mans received the Manuscripts for the volumes of 1807. Its inclusion 
in the Longman MSS. suggests that W. intended to publish, but can- 
celled it. 

p. 374. XIII. THE OBCHABD PATHWAY: Preserved in the Longman 
MSS., preceded by the note "To the first division of the first Volume 
[i.e., as Hutchinson points out, pp. 1-74 of Vol. I of the 1807 
volumes] you will prefix a separate Title Page thus The Orchard 
Pathway (and in the same page the following motto)," The lines were 


probably written shortly before sending the Manuscripts to the printer, 
i.e. in the autumn of 1 806. 

p. 374. XIV. ST. PAUL'S : The date of this poem is fixed by a letter 
to Sir G. Beaumont, April 8, 1808: "You will deem it strange, but 
really some of the imagery of London has, since my return hither, 
been more present to my mind than that of this noble vale. I left 
Coleridge at seven o'clock on Sunday morning, and walked towards 
the city in a very thoughtful and melancholy state of mind. I had 
passed through Temple Bar and by St. Dunstan's, noticing nothing, 
and entirely occupied with my own thoughts, when, looking up, I 
saw before me the avenue of Fleet Street, silent, empty, and pure 
white, with a sprinkling of new -fallen snow, not a cart or carriage to 
obstruct the view, no noise, only a few soundless and dusky foot- 
passengers here and there. You remember the elegant line of the 
curve of Ludgate Hill in which this avenue would terminate, and 
beyond, towering above it, was the huge and majestic form of St. 
Paul's, solemnised by a thin veil of falling snow. I cannot say how 
much I was affected at this unthought-of sight in such a place, and 
what a blessing I felt there is in habits of exalted imagination. My 
sorrow was controlled, and my uneasiness of mind not quieted and 
relieved altogether seemed at onco to receive the gift of an anchor 
of security." Two Manuscripts of the poem are extant, one in the 
first Manuscript copy of Peter Bell (which I quote as MS. A), the other 
(which I take for my text) in a note -book containing also A Tuft of 
Primroses and To the Cloud*. 

p. 376. XV. GEORGE AND SABAH GREEN: For the story of the 
tragedy of the Greens, and the interest which the W.s took in the 
welfare of their orphan children, v. George and Sarah Green, A Narra- 
tive, by D. W., Oxford, 1935, and M.Y., pp. 178-210. De Quincey 
contributed to Tait's Edinburgh Magazine for Sept. 1839 a vivid but 
inaccurate account of the incident, under the title Recollections of 
Grasmere, into which he introduced the poem with the words "it may 
be proper to remind the reader of W.'s memorial stanzas", though in 
fact the stanzas had not before been published. De Q.'s text is here 
reproduced the Manuscript readings are from W.'s letter to Coleridge 
dated April 19, 1808, just after the poem had been written. The date 
of W.'s revision of it is unknown. 

From W.'s third Essay on Epitaphs, written, probably, early in 1810, 
for inclusion in The Friend which, however, came to an end on March 
16 ; before that date W.'s first Essay on Epitaphs had appeared in it. 

p. 377. XVII. THE SCOTTISH BROOM: A Manuscript in Dove 
Cottage in an unknown hand gives the title : A Help for the Memory 
of the Grand Independent, A New Song by W. W. ; first printed 
in 1891 in Annals of my Early Life, by Charles Wordsworth, who 
states (p. 107): "While I was staying at Rydal Mount [in 1831] my 


cousin Dora gave me a copy of the following political squib, written 
by my uncle some years before on the occasion of a Westmorland 
election, when Brougham stood as the Radical candidate against Lord 
Lowther and his brother the Colonel. ... It is interesting and deserves 
to be preserved, because it shows beyond question (as the writer, 
through his intimacy with Lord Lonsdale, could not have been mis- 
taken upon the point) that there had been a time when Brougham 
would have been content to join the Tory ranks provided the pro- 
prietor of Lowther Castle would have taken him in hand." The verses 
must have been written at the time when W. took a prominent part 
in opposing Brougham's candidature for Westmorland in 1818 (v. 
M.Y., pp. 804-16, 821). Birdnest was the name by which Brougham 
Hall was popularly known, from the Bird family to whom the Manor 
originally belonged (v. D. W., Journal for July 14, 1802). 

1. Scottish] "Because Mr. Brougham pretended that he was a 
native of England." Note by Charles Wordsworth. D. W. says he 
claimed to be a native of Westmorland (M. Y., 814^-15). He was born 
in Edinburgh. 

Preserved in a Manuscript at Lowther Castle (K.), and probably 
written at the same date as the previous lines. 

p. 378. XIX. Two EPIGRAMS ON BYRON'S ' 'CAIN": Found by K. 
in a catalogue of Autograph Letters. It may be conjectured that as 
Byron's Cain, dedicated to Sir Walter Scott, was published late in 
Dec. 1821, these epigrams were written in the following year. On 
Gessner's Tod Abels, referred to in the second Epigram, v. Prelude, 
vii. 564, and note. The quotation (1. 3) is from Burns, To a Haggis: 

"O, what a glorious sight, 
Warm-reekin', rich!" 

p. 378. XX. EPITAPH: These lines are preserved in a large folio 
book, MS. 101, and written by M. W., headed "By W. W." and 
preceded by the note : "In the Burial ground of this Church are de- 
posited the Remains of Jemima A. B. [should be A. D.] second 
daughter of Sir Egerton Brydges Bart, of Lee Priory, Kent, who de- 
parted this life at Rydal, May 25th, 1822, ag. 28 years. This memorial 
is erected by her afflicted husband Edwd. Quillinan." Above her 
transcript M. W. has written: "Mr. Quillinan's Sketch for his Wife's 
Epitaph (to be erected in Grasmere Church) : 

The good Jemima perished in her bloom 

Her hapless fate o'erspread these vales with gloom. 

The good, the kind, the lovely and the meek 

Might have fit Epitaph etc. as 8-16, but 1. 9 or marble could 

for monument, 1. 10 by the heart for inwardly and 1. 16 to heaven for 


The Memoir of W. (i. 444) states that the first six lines of the 


epitaph were composed by W. It seems likely, however, that W. took 
E. Q.'s Sketch and rewrote it as a whole. Jemima Anne Deborah 
Quillinan, wife of Edward Quillinan, was the Wordsworths' near 
neighbour at Ivy Cottage below Rydal Mount. D. W. attended her in 
her last illness, due to grievous burns her clothes having accidentally 
taken fire. v. D. W.'s letter to J. Marshall, 13 June 1822. L.Y., p. 79. 

p. 379. XXI. IN THE FIRST PAGE OF AN ALBUM, etc.: Preserved 
in the Postscript to a letter from Dora W. to Edward Quillinan 
"Trinity Lodge, Cambridge, May 16, 1824: I transcribe what my 
Father wrote in O'Callaghan's Album." (The poem follows.) I have 
not been able to discover who O'Callaghan was. 

LADY WHOM YOU HERE BEHOLD : Underneath the Manuscript copy of 
these two poems the Rev. Herbert Hill (ra. Bertha South ey, 1839) 
has written : "The two poems above have the interest of being play- 
ful effusions of Mr. Wordsworth's Muse ; they were written for two 
dolls dressed up by Edith Southey and Dora Wordsworth: the 
Papers remained as they were originally placed for some twenty 
years, which accounts for their brown or yellow tint: A published 
poem of Mr. W.'s on a Needle case in the form of a harp belongs 
to the same date." At the foot of the second poem is written: "Com- 
posed by Mr. Wordsworth, Written by E. M. Southey." Apparently 
the first of the two did duty for two dolls, for K. has printed it 
from another Manuscript, which, in place of the first four lines of 
my text, reads: 

I, whose pretty Voice you hear, 
Lady (you will think it queer) 

and has the footnote: "Composed, and in part transcribed, for Fanny 
Barlow, by her affectionate Friend, Win. Wordsworth. Rydal Mount, 
Shortest Day, 1826." K. has prefixed this note: "These lines were 
written for Miss Fanny Barlow of Middlethorpe Hall, York. She was 
first married to the Rev. E. Trafford Leigh, and afterwards to Dr. 
Eason Wilkinson of Manchester." 

several Manuscripts of this poem, on which W. seems to have expended 
much pains, though he was clearly dissatisfied with the result: he 
never published it. MS. A, which is complete, I take to be the final 
text ; MS. B consists of two copies, neither of them complete, and 
other fragments, from which together the whole text can be con- 
structed. Previously printed texts of the poem contain errors which 
I have not found in any Manuscript. It is dated 1826. Towards the 
end of 1825 W. was informed that in 1827 Lady le Fleming intended 
to let Rydal Mount to another tenant, and he bought "at an ex* 
travagant fancy price" a piece of ground just below the house and 


made preparations for building there for himself. But by the follow- 
ing October the notice to quit had been withdrawn, and a little later 
W. presented the ground to his daughter: it is now known as "Dora's 
field" (v. M.Y., pp. 232-3, 245-6, 256). 

8/9. (app. crit.) The spring was called "the Nab Well" (v. M. i. 
23). "yon craggy Steep" is Nab Scar. 

24-36. (app. crit.) "the neighbouring stream" is the Rydal Beck 
with its famous waterfalls, (v. An Evening Walk, 11. 53-65). 

Dec. 24, 1828, Barron Field wrote to W. asking him to write in Mrs. 
Field's Album; on Feb. 26, 1829, he wrote: "Mrs. Field thanks you 
for writing in her Album, and my Brother is very proud of your 
praise." Underneath W.'s lines in the Album B. F. wrote: 
Words inky ! They're worth more than that, 
I can't let that go forth ; 
The line that would detract from words 
Itself shews a Word's -worth. 

STATION", OPPOSITE BOWNESS: dated by K. 1829. "The Strangers' 
Book at the Station", he writes, "contains the following: 'Lord and 
Lady Darlington, Lady Vane, Miss Taylor and Captain Stamp pro- 
nounce this Lake superior to Lac de Geneve, Lago de Como, Lago 
Maggiore, L'Eau de Zurich, Loch Lomond, Loch Katerine, or the 
Lakes of Killarney'." On seeing the above W. wrote the lines in text. 
The Station was a favourite viewpoint for Windermere on the hill 
above the Ferry, opposite Bowness (v. W.'s Guide to the Lakes, ed. 
E. de S., p. 5). 

p. 388. XXVII. To THE UTILITARIANS: Sent as a postscript to a 
letter to H. C. R., dated May 5, 1833, preceded by the words "To fill 
up the paper I [?send] these verses composed or rather thrown off this 
morning", and followed by "Is the above intelligible I fear not 
I know however my own meaning and that's enough [?] on Manu- 

wrote to M. W. : "By the bye, could you answer me a question that 
has been put to me more than once ? Did the author of The Excursion 
ever write an Epigram ?" M. W. replied "To show you that we can 
write an Epigram we do not say a good one" [Epigram follows]. 
"The Producer thinks it not amiss as being murmured between sleep 
and awake over the fire while thinking of you last night !" 

p. 388. XXIX. A SQUIB ON COL. EVANS: Sent in a letter from 
W. W. to H. C, R., March 26, 1838: "You know of old my partiality 
for Evans : the squib below I let off immediately upon reading his 
modest self-defence speech the other day." George de Lacy Evans 
(1787-1870) was a gallant and distinguished soldier who fought under 


Wellington in Spain and at Waterloo, and later commanded a division 
in the Crimea. In 1835 he took command of the British Legion raised 
for the service of the Queen Regent of Spain against Don Carlos. 
He was defeated at Fuentarabia in July 1836 and at Hernani in 
March 1837, but in the following July he retook them both; and in 
August 1837 obtained the red ribbon of a K.C.B. W. W.'s patently 
unjust attacks upon him in this squib and in the previous epigram 
were prompted by political prejudice. Evans was the radical member 
for Westminster (elected 1833) and a strong supporter of the Reform 
Bill. The lines were, of course, not written for publication, and were 
probably inspired by the desire to score off H. C. R, who in politics 
agreed with Evans. 

p. 389. INSCRIPTION ON A ROOK AT RYDAL MOUNT. First published 
in M, vol. i, p. 25. "The rock is situated in Dora's Field" (v. note to 
XXIV supra). The inscription is still partly legible. 

WITH A SMALL. PRESENT : Both these poems are preserved in a note- 
book of which the contents seem to belong to the years 1840-6. A 
second copy of "With a small Present" is found in another Manuscript 
book, written just above "The Crescent Moon" (p. 14 supra) which is 
dated Feb. 26, 1841. It is probably, therefore, of the same date. 

From a bookseller's Catalogue. Mr. Gordon Wordsworth inspected 
the Manuscript, and guaranteed its genuineness. W. was at Bath on 
the date recorded on the Manuscript (v. L.Y., p. 1074). 

p. 390. XXXIV. THE EAGLE AND THE DOVE: From a volume 
entitled "La Petite Chouannerie, ou Histoire d'un College Breton sous 
V Empire. Par A. F. Bio. Londres: Moxon, Dover Street, 1842", and 
probably written shortly before that date. Most of the contents of 
the book are in French, but beside W.'s there were English verses by 
Landor, Monckton Milnes, and others. Henry Reed tells us that the 
book dealt with "the romantic revolt of the royalist students of 
the college of Vamies in 1815, and their battles with the soldiers of the 
French Republic". 

Written for insertion in a presentation copy of the edition of 1845 
(v. L.Y., p. 1274). 

HIGHNESS PRINCE ALBERT, etc.: "The plan and composition of this 
Ode was chiefly prepared by Mr. Quillinan, but carefully revised in 
MS. by Mr. Wordsworth, who, being in a state of deep domestic 
affliction, could not otherwise have been able to fulfil the engagement 
with Prince Albert, previously made, in time for the installation" 
note by M. W. in a copy of the Ode in the Wordsworth Museum. The 
"affliction" was the last illness of his daughter Dora, who died on 
July 9, 1847. 


Variants are shown by an asterisk or square brackets 

A barking sound the Shepherd hears ...... 80 

A Character 58 

A Fact and an Imagination ; or, Canute and Alfred, on the Sea-shore 91 
A German Haggis from receipt . . . . . . .378 

"A little onward lend thy guiding hand . . . . .92 

A manciple there was, one of a Temple ..... 358 

A Night Thought 77 

A pen to register ; a key . . . . . . .101 

A plague on [fig for] your languages, German and Norse ! .64 

A Poet's Epitaph 65 

A point of life between my Parents' dust . . . . .22 

A prized memorial this slight work may prove .... 390 

A Squib on Colonel Evans . . . . . . . .389 

A weight of awe [woe], not easy to be borne .... 47 

A youth too certain of his power to wade . . . . .33 

Address from the Spirit of Cockermouth Castle . . . .23 

Address to the Scholars of the village School of . . . 256 

Adieu, Rydalian Laurels! that have grown ..... 20 

Affections lose their object ; Time brings forth . . . .162 

Ah, think how one compelled for life to abide . . . .139 

Ah why deceive ourselves! by no mere fit . . . .132 

All breathed in silence, and intensely gaz'd . . . . .310 

Among a grave fraternity of Monks . . . . . .124 

Among the dwellers in the silent fields . . . . .180 

Among the mountains were we nursed, loved Stream ! . .22 

An age hath been when Earth was proud ..... 94 

And sweet it is to see in summer time . . . . . .370 

Animal Tranquillity and Decay ....... 247 

Apology ........... 141 

Arms and the Man I sing, the first who bore .... 286 

Arran! a single -crested Teneriffe ....... 36 

Art thou a Statist [Statesman] in the van ..... 65 

As leaves are to the tree whereon they grow . . . . .133 

At Bala-Sala, Isle of Man (supposed to be written by a Friend) . . 34 
At Bologna, in Remembrance of the late Insurrections, 1837 . .132 

At Sea off the Isle of Man . 31 

Avaunt this oeconomic rage ! . . . . . . .388 

Away, away, it is the air ........ 357 

Before the world had past her time of youth . . . .137 

Beguiled into forgetfulness of care . . . . . .120 

Behold an emblem of our human mind ..... 208 

Betieath yon eastern ridge, the craggy bound . . . .197 

Blest is this Isle our native Land . . . . . .165 

Blest Statesman He, whose Mind's unselfish will . . . .129 

Bold words affirmed, in days when faith was strong . . .31 
Bright Flower! whose home is everywhere ..... 67 

Broken in fortune, but in mind entire ...... 34 

Burns' Daisy* 44 

917.17 IV I i 


By a blest Husband guided, Mary came ..... 254 

By a retired Mariner (a Friend of the Author) .... 34 

By playful smiles, (alas ! too oft ....... 255 

By the Sea-shore, Isle of Man ....... 32 

By the Sea-side ......... 3 

By the Side of Rydal Mere 6 

By the Side of the Grave some Years after . . . . .258 

By vain affections unenthralled ....... 255 

Calm is the fragrant air, and loth to lose ..... 1 
Camoens, he the accomplished and the good .... 372 

Cave of Staff a 40, 41 

Cave of Staffa (after the Crowd had departed) .... 40 

Cenotaph in affectionate Remembrance of Frances Fermor ... . 255 

Character of the happy Warrior . . . . . . .86 

Chaucer Modernised . . . . . . . . .358 

Come, gentle Sleep, Death's image tho' thou art .... 372 

Composed by the Sea-shore . . . . . . .13 

Composed upon an Evening of extraordinary Splendour and Beauty 1 
Composed when a Probability existed of our being obliged to quit 

Rydal Mount as a Residence . . . . . .381 

Confiding Flower, by Nature's care* . . . . . .67 

Critics, right honourable Bard, decree . . . . .378 

Days undefiled by luxury or sloth . . . . . .132 

Dear to the Loves, and to the Graces vowed .... 24 

Deign, Sovereign Mistress! to accept a lay . . . . .391 

Departing summer hath assumed . . . . . .99 

Desire we past illusions to recal ? . . . . . .31 

Despond who will / heard a voice exclaim ..... 35 

Destined to war from very infancy . . . . . .251 

Did pangs of grief for lenient time too keen . . . . .33 

Dirge 257 

Discourse was deemed Man's noblest attribute .... 75 
Distressful gift ! this Book receives . . . . . .372 

Eden ! till now thy beauty had I viewed ..... 45 
Elegiac Musings in the Grounds of Coleorton Hall, the Seat of the 

late Sir G. H. Beaumont, Bart 270 

Elegiac Stanzas (addressed to Sir G. H. B. upon the Death of his 

Sister-in-lawl 269 

Elegiac Stanzas suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle, in a Storm, 

painted by Sir George Beaumont . . . . . .258 

Elegiac Verses in Memory of my Brother, John Wordsworth . .263 
Enough of climbing toil ! Ambition treads ..... 96 

Enough of rose-bud lips, and eyes . . . . . .183 

Epigram on an Event in Col. Evans's redoubted Performances 

in Spain 388 

Epistle to Sir George Howland Beaumont, Bart.: from the South- 
west Coast of Cumberland. 1811 142,151 

Epitaph 378 

Epitaph in the Chapel-yard of Langdale, Westmoreland . . 255 

Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces [Poems] 248 

Epitaphs translated from Chiabrera ...... 248 


Ere the Brothers through the gateway . . . . .169 

Even so bewails, the Poplar groves among ..... 357 

Evening Ode, composed upon an Evening of extraordinary Splendour 

and Beauty* ......... 10 

Evening Voluntaries ......... 1 

Expostulation and Reply ........ 56 

Extempore Effusion upon the Death of James Hogg . . .276 

Far from our home by Grasmere's quiet Lake . . . .142 
Feel for the wrongs to universal ken . . . . . .134 

Fidelity 80 

First fiowret of the year is that which shows .... 379 

Fit retribution, by the moral code . . . . . .138 

Flattered with promise of escape . . . . .107 

Floating Island 162 

Flowers on the Top of the Pillars at the Entrance of the Cave . . 41 
For a Seat in the Groves of Coleorton . . . . . .197 

For the Spot where the Hermitage stood on St. Herbert's Island, 

Derwent-Water 206 

For thirst of power that Heaven disowns ..... 392 

Fragments from MS. M 365 

From early youth I ploughed the restless Main .... 34 
From the Alfoxden Notebook ....... 357 

Gentle Zephyr If you pass her by ...... 370 

George and Sarah Green . . . . . . . .375 

Giordano, verily thy Pencil's skill . . . . . .18 

Gold and Silver Fishes in a Vase ....... 151 

Goody Blake and Harry Gill: a true Story . . . . .173 

Grace Darling 180 

Grateful is Sleep, my life in stone bound fast . . . .371 

Greenock: Per me si va nella Citta dolente ..... 44 
Greta, what fearful listening! when huge stones . . . .21 

Had this effulgence disappeared . . . . . . .10 

Hard task ! exclaim the undisciplined, to lean . . . .133 

Harmonious Powers with Nature work . . . . .162 

Hast thou seen, with flash [train] incessant ..... 205 

Here on their knees men swore : the stones were black ... 43 
Homeward we turn. Isle of Columba's Cell ..... 43 

Hope smiled when your nativity was cast ..... 41 

Hopes what are they ? Beads of morning ..... 202 

How beautiful the Queen of Night, on high . . . . .163 

How sad a welcome ! To each voyager ..... 42 

Humanity 102 

I am not One who much or oft delight ..... 73 

I come, ye little noisy Crew ....... 256 

I have been here in the Moon- light ...... 365 

I heard a thousand blended notes ...... 58 

I know an aged Man constrained to dwell . . . . .160 

I marvel how Nature could ever find space ..... 58 

I saw an aged Beggar in my walk ...... 234 


I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile ! .... 258 

I will be that fond Mother 370 

If Life were slumber on a bed of down ..... 25 

If money 's slack ......... 378 

If Nature, for a favourite child . . . . . . .68 

If this great world of joy and pain . . . . . .114 

If thou in the dear love of some one Friend ..... 206 

Illustrated Books and Newspapers . . , . . .75 
In Allusion to various recent Histories and Notices of the French 

Revolution 130, 131 

In Death, when evil against good has fought . . . .136 

In desultory walk through orchard grounds . . . . .176 
In Sight of the Town of Cockermouth, where the Author was born, 

and his Father's Remains are laid ..... 22 

In the Channel, between the Coast of Cumberland and the Isle of Man 30 
In the first Page of an Album by one whose Handwriting is wretchedly 

bad 379 

In the Frith of Clyde, Ailsa Crag (during an Eclipse of the Sun, July 17) 36 
In the Garden of the same (i.e. Coleorton) . . . . .195 
In the Grounds of Coleorton, the Seat of Sir George Beaumont, Bart., 

Leicestershire . . . . . . . . .195 

In the sweet shire of Cardigan ....... 60 

In these fair vales hath many a Tree . . . . . .201 

Incident characteristic of a favourite Dog . . . . .77 

Inscribed upon a Rock ........ 204 

Inscription for a Monument in Crosthwaite Church, in the Vale of 

Keswick 278 

Inscription for the House (an Out -house), on the Island at Graamere* 198 
Inscription for the Moss -hut at Dove Cottage . . . .372 

Inscription intended for a Stone in the Grounds of Rydal Mount* 201 
Inscription on a Rock at Rydal Mount ..... 389 

Inscriptions .......... 195 

Inscriptions supposed to be found in and near a Hermit's Cell . 202 
Invocation to the Earth: February, 1816 . . . . 267 

lona 42 

lona (upon landing) ........ 42 

Isle of Man 33 

It is the first mild day of March ....... 59 

Lady! a Pen (perhaps with thy regard . . . . . .178 

Let more ambitious Poets take the heart ..... 390 

Liberty 163 

Lie here sequester'd : be this little mound* ..... 79 

Lie here, without a record of thy worth ..... 79 

Like a shipwrecked Sailor tost . . . . . . .107 

Lines composed at Grasmere ... . . . . . . 266 

Lines inscribed in a Copy of his Poems sent to the Queen for the 

Royal Library at Windsor 391 

Lines suggested by a Portrait from the Pencil of F. Stone . 120, 124 
Lines written in early Spring ....... 58 

Lines written in the Album of the Countess of Lonsdale [Countess of ] 1 78 
Lines written on a blank Leaf ... . . . . . . 268 

Lines written on a Tablet in a School* ..... 68 


Lines written with a Pencil, upon a Stone in the Wall of the House 

(an Out-house), on the Island at Grasmere* . . . .198 

List, the winds of March are blowing . . . . . .110 

List, ye who pass by Lyulph's Tower ...... 49 

Lo ! where the Moon along the sky . . . . . .77 

Long-favoured England ! be not thou misled . . . .131 

Long time his pulse hath ceased to beat ..... 258 

Lonsdale ! it were unworthy of a Guest ..... 49 

Loud is the Vale ! the Voice is up ...... 266 

Lowther ........... 48 

Lowther! in thy majestic Pile are seen ..... 48 

Mary Queen of Scots, landing at the Mouth of the Derwent, Work- 

ington .......... 24 

Matthew 68 

Memory ........... 101 

Men of the Western World ! in Fate's dark book . . . .131 

Michael Angelo in Reply to the Passage upon his Statue of Night 

Sleeping . 371 

Miscellaneous Poems . . . . . . . . .142 

Monument of Mrs. Howard (by Nollekens), in Wetherall Church, 

near Corby, on the banks of the Eden ..... 45 

Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes ...... 54 

Motions and Means, on land and sea at war ..... 47 

Mourn, Shepherd, near thy old grey stone ..... 267 

My Lord and Lady Darlington ....... 387 

Near the Spring of the Hermitage ...... 205 

No whimsy of the purse is here . . . . . . .372 

Not in the lucid intervals of life ....... 4 

Not in the mines beyond the western main ..... 54 

Not seldom, clad in radiant vest ....... 206 

Not to the clouds, not to the cliff, he flew . . . . .37 

Not to the object specially designed . . . . . .137 

Not without heavy grief of heart did He ..... 262 

Now when the Gods had crush 'd the Asian State .... 336 

Now when the primrose makes a splendid show . . . .168 

Nun's Well, Brigham 23 

Nunnery ........... 46 

O flower of all that springs from gentle blood .... 252 

O for a dirge ! But why complain ?...... 269 

O Lelius, beauteous flower of gentleness* ..... 449 

"O Lord, our Lord! how wondrously," (quoth she) . . . 209 

O now that the genius of Bewick were mine ..... 246 

O Thou who movest onward with a mind . 249 

Ode composed on May Morning . . . . . . 1 16 

Ode : Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Child- 
hood 279 

Ode on the Installation of His Royal Highness Prince Albert as 

Chancellor of the University of Cambridge, July, 1847 . . 392 

Ode to Duty 83 

Ode to Lycoris, May, 1817 94, 96 


Oft have I caught, upon a fitful breeze . . . . .38 

Oft is the medal faithful to its trust . . . . . .195 

Oh bless'd all bliss above 370 

Oh! what's the matter ? what's the matter ? . . . .173 

Old Man Travelling: Animal Tranquillity and Decay, A Sketch* . 247 
On a high Part of the Coast of Cumberland, Easter Sunday, April 7. 

The Author's Sixty-third Birthday 2 

On entering Douglas Bay, Isle of Man ...... 32 

On his morning rounds the Master . . . . . .77 

On revisiting Dunolly Castle . . . . . . .37 

On seeing some Tourists of the Lakes pass by reading: a Practice 

very common ......... 374 

On the Banks of a rocky Stream 208 

On the Frith of Clyde (in a Steamboat) ..... 36 

On to lona ! What can she afford ...... 42 

Once I could hail (howe'er serene the sky) . . . . .163 

Once on the top of Tynwald's formal mound .... 35 

Orchard Pathway, to and fro ....... 374 

Orlando who great length of time had been ..... 367 

Our bodily life, some plead, that life the shrine . . . .139 

Pastor and Patriot ! at whose bidding rise ..... 24 

Pause, courteous Spirit ! Baldi [Balbi] supplicates . . . 253 

Pause, Traveller ! whosoe'er thou be ...... 204 

" People ! your chains are severing link by link . . . .128 

Perhaps some needful service of the State ..... 248 

Personal Talk 73 

Placard for a Poll bearing an old Shirt 378 

Poems composed or suggested during a Tour, in the Summer of 1833 20 
Poems either never printed by Wordsworth or not included in the 

Edition 1849-50 357 

Poems of Sentiment and Reflection ...... 56 

Poems referring to the Period of old Age ..... 234 

Poor Robin 158 

Portentous change when History can appear . . . .130 
Prelude prefixed to the Volume entitled "Poems chiefly of early 

and late Years" 176 

Press'd with conflicting thoughts of love and fear .... 374 

Prithee, gentle Lady, list 379 

Queen of the Stars ! so gentle, so benign [as bright as when of yore] . 16 

Ranging the heights of Scawfell or Blackcomb .... 30 
Reluctant call it was ; the rite delayed . . . . . .128 

"Rest, rest, perturbed Earth! 267 

Rude is this Edifice, and Thou hast seen . . . . .198 

Said red-ribbon'd Evans 389 

Said Secrecy to Cowardice and Fraud . . . . . .129 

St. Paul's 374 

See the Condemned alone within his cell 140 

Selections from Chaucer modernised ...... 209 

September, 1819 98, 99 

Shade of Caractacus, if spirits love . . . . . .390 


She who to lift her heavy eyes had tried ..... 356 
Simon Lee, the old Huntsman, with an Incident in which he was 

concerned .......... 60 

Since risen from ocean, ocean to defy ...... 36 

Six months to six years added he remained ..... 264 

Small service is true service while it lasts . . . . .178 

So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive . . . . . .125 

Soft as a cloud is yon blue Ridge the Mere ... 7 

Sonnet to an Octogenarian . . . . . . .162 

Sonnets composed or suggested during a